


Edge of Eternity

by kyojinouji



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, CEO! Seonghwa, Cheating, Dystopian Dynasty, Hierarchy Aspects, I've been committing war crimes, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It'll get better, Language of Flowers, M/M, Marriage Contracts, Matrix Glitches, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Timeline Resets, its a lot of weird sci-fi universe mechanics, pls don't hate yeosang, simulations, time loops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24316213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyojinouji/pseuds/kyojinouji
Summary: Bloodlines have long since been tainted by the language of flowers. Dependent on the social hierarchy through these biological strains, a certain company stands above it all. Park Seonghwa never wanted this life. All he wanted was to be perfect.In the past, human biology was integrated with floral DNA to create perfect creatures of biological warfare. Later, the world is led entirely by the abilities each descendent was gifted with. What is one willing to risk to remain in power? And what is worth a mortal soul?❀ Inspired by the Fallin' Flower MV by Seventeen ❀
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 26
Kudos: 96





	1. YOU CAN'T HOLD MY HEART

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❀ TW: Mention of attempted suicide; very brief, but it's still there. ❀

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Not proof-read or Beta-read so there are bound to be mistakes.   
> (Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ❀

> [ _“How's it gonna work when we can't admit it._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _Pretend like we don't know now,_ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _tried to drag it out, but we beared it livin'._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _We can let it go now._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _And there's nothing that I can say at all._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _You can't hold my heart no more._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _And I'm waiting for your arms to fall._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _You can't hold my heart no more.”_ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [**_YOU CAN’T HOLD MY HEART_ ** _\- Monsta X_](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> * * *

Picture perfect. His life is elysian. From the moment he stepped forth into the world until the moment he is supposed to exit it, everything about his existence is carefully planned. Every aspect calculated to the last possible route. Life is perfect; until the moment it is not. 

That morning, the pockets of his tailored suit were stuffed to the brim with forget-me-nots. It was odd, but something he chalked up to Yeosang’s romantic antics. He set off to work and came home just like every other morning. He expected to fall onto the couch cushions and take a nice nap. He expected to enjoy a hot cup of tea while curled up against Yeosang’s side; his fingers massaging little circles into his scalp. He expected perfection. 

His fiance, a man of celestial proportions and a jawline to kill, bent over their kitchen island was the last thing he expected to find when he walked through the double doors of their apartment. The kitchen island that they spent weeks picking out; to guarantee its aesthetic match to the rest of their home. The kitchen island that he painstakingly scrubbed every night despite them never actually using it. The _fucking_ kitchen island that he hated. 

His life would continue to be perfect even as he took careful steps back out of the apartment. As he closed the doors with silent precision, to make sure the lock did not make a peep as he tugged on its handle, his life would be perfect. As he made his way downtown to the small bakery with honey-bread and cinnamon butter that his fiance loved. As he waited an hour on the worn leather couches of the cafe on the corner before traversing back to their home. As Yeosang opened the door with a blinding smile and a soft kiss to his cheek. Perfect. Life had to be perfect. 

Seonghwa knew that their relationship had never been a choice. Yeosang was his closest friend and the only soul in the universe that he allowed to see beneath the mask he threw up around the rest of the world. In the public eye, they were the most desired couple. Stunning with wonderful personalities to match. They were a pair of burning stars that traveled through galaxies hand in hand. Maybe, that was why he was not surprised to find the younger with interests elsewhere. They loved each other; just not that way.

It’s three months later when Wooyoung is sitting in his office, rambling about his newest crush, when Seonghwa speaks the words into existence. “Yeosang is sleeping with someone else,” His voice is steady. By some grace of the gods above, his voice is steady. “He’s sleeping with someone else and I can’t bring myself to even care, Woo.” Wooyoung blinks at him owlishly. His dark hair falls into his eyes for a moment before Seonghwa tucks the loose strands behind his friend’s ear. 

“I know,” Wooyoung mumbles, his gaze not meeting Seonghwa’s. “I know he is. He told me months ago.” Seonghwa hums quietly and leans back in the sturdy leather chair. “I should have told you, Hwa, I’m so sorry.”

Seonghwa shakes his head with a careful grimace. “Don’t apologize, please, it’s no one’s fault.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing circles beneath the rests of the round reading glasses that nestle there. “God, it’s no one’s fault, Woo. Our parents wanted this. We didn’t.”

Wooyoung sighs. “It doesn’t mean that he gets to throw everything away–”

“He didn’t,” Seonghwa says. “We’re not throwing it away. I’m not going to tell him what I saw. He’s happy.” _He’s happy_ , he repeats internally, _he’s finally happy._ “I’m not going to risk that.”

Wooyoung pulls him into a tight embrace and presses a tender kiss to his temple. “You’re too good, Park Seonghwa. When are you going to let yourself be happy too?” He wouldn’t. He did not need to be happy. He just had to be perfect.

“Sometimes, it’s easier just to survive,” Seonghwa says, trying not to allow his own emotions to filter into the statement. Wooyoung was a friend to both of them. It would not be right to pull him into the situation. It would be even worse to force him to pick a side. “I promise, it will be alright, Woo. You just have to believe me.”

“I just worry, Hwa,” Wooyoung says as a knock on the door’s wooden surface echoes through the space. “Come in,” Wooyoung calls, responding to Seonghwa’s visitor before he even has a chance. The office door opens slowly and a dark mop of hair peeks through the crack. San, Seonghwa’s most trusted secretary, holds a packet of file folders with a dimpled grin on his face. 

San enters carefully, watching the ground for Wooyoung’s scattered belongings, and bows slightly. “You have a call on line three, Mr. Park,” The formality in San’s tone is almost hilarious. This is the same man that has been black-out drunk on their apartment rug more times than he can count. But this place, the company, is not a safe one for endearment. It is the iron wall of chilled personas. Before he can turn on his heel and leave the room, Wooyoung is already trying to make conversation. 

“So, is the streak natural?” He asks, smirk replacing any earlier expression. San narrows his eyes at the question. His arms fall over his chest easily as he stares down at the younger. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” San pouts. It’s clear, however, that the the men do not harbor any ill-will towards each other. Seonghwa has seen it too many times between the two men. He shoots a quick prayer to the gods that this is not some weird foreplay for the two. “Line three, Hwa.” With that, San is out the door and down the hall before Wooyoung can retort. 

“Well, I’ll head out–”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. The janitor does not come in until 6pm, but if San is gone for more than an hour, my father is going to start looking for him,” Seonghwa grumbles, lifting the phone off the clip. Before he presses the connecting line, he makes eye contact with the raven-haired man. “And Woo? Thank you.” He presses the button just as the boy grins at him and shuts the door. It would be a long day.

By the time the clock hit 5pm, he was ready to pound his head against his desk. He did not hate his job, truly, and it was hardly difficult work. However, being under his father’s thumb in every aspect of his life was far less than preferable. He was only twenty-three, but forced to live as though he was halfway through his life. His family had been pushing for him and Yeosang to get married since they were toddlers. The Kang family was a group of high-county executives. Their lineage traced back to the point of some of the strongest abilities the area had seen. It was not a surprise when their families forced the two together. 

The Kang line was from the oldest portion of the hierarchy, directly next to Seonghwa’s own, and the match was something everyone believed to be inevitable. Everyone who fell into the Quercus spectrum was capable of one thing: Surviving. Per the view of humanity, they were simply just oak acorns. Their connection to mythology, however, was what bound them to the world. To the Norse, the oak was able to withstand even the strongest bolt of lightning. While its bark fell to the flames, the tree itself maintained a strong presence. In the eyes of the Norsemen, this bore way to Thor’s almighty power. As such, those of Quercus found themselves unable to die. 

The idea was wonderful. A life without worry of the end. Yeosang, however, had other thoughts. Despite his ethereal appearance, the man had grown obsessed with the concept of death. One more than one occasion, Seonghwa had the horrible experience of watching his fiance injure himself in a variety of ways, most unthinkable. Every time, though, he came back with a vigor. An itch that he could not scratch no matter how hard he tried. Kang Yeosang did not find worth in being alive, but he would remain that way forever. Under all circumstances, he would march to the beat of his heart.

Seonghwa pulls his head out of the clouds and carefully prepares his belongings. His driver would be in the front of the building, just as usual, and he could not afford to make the man await. Well, he could _afford_ it monetarily, but his conscience could not. There was something immoral about making anyone bend to his schedule. As he slides the last files into place, he pushes in the tall leather desk chair and flips the switch on the private office’s light system. Two steps out the door, he turns to lock it, just as a body crashes into him. With little grace, he tumbles directly onto his ass. 

“Oh my god, Mr. Park, I’m so sorry!” The person stumbles through his words, falling to his knees to help Seonghwa gather his keys and papers. The CEO did not even notice the way the files fluttered through the hall. Instead, he was more mesmerized by the platinum blond in front of him. Even as the man shoves the sheets back into the manila envelope, Seonghwa can’t tear his gaze from him. His voice flits through the room like a sparrow trapped within a barren warehouse. He’s panicked, Seonghwa realizes, but really, who wouldn’t be? He just barrelled down one of the top rungs of the social hierarchy. However, Seonghwa does not recognize him, which means he is not the direct supervisor of this stunning creature. The same one who is waving an open palm in front of his face and mumbling something quickly. 

“Mr. Park?”

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa says, his eyes wide. “I didn’t catch that.” The man smiles softly, handing the file-folder back to him. “What were you saying?” The folder is heavy in his fingertips as he slides it into the bag tipped by his side. 

“I asked if you were alright,” the blonde says, “also, what you were staring at.” Seonghwa feels his face heat into a crimson canvas before he can process the words. _What was he staring at?_ He surely could not tell the man that he had no idea who he was. Nor could he easily say that he was admiring his beauty. Instead, his mind settles on the safest option. 

“Your roots. You could use a touch-up.” As his voice echoes back to his own ears, the shameful flush spreads even further. It was the safest option, but it definitely was not the most intelligent. While it was true, the man did need to touch-up his roots, the grown out look worked for him. Internally, he smacks his own forehead. 

The blonde’s fingers tug at his strands carefully. His gaze drawn upwards, Seonghwa takes the moment to appreciate his delicate features. The subtle curve of his lips. The cat-like tilt of his eyes. By the time he’s making eye contact again, Seonghwa does not think his face can grow any redder. There’s a quirk to the corner of the other man’s mouth as he asks, “You think it’s that bad already?” Seonghwa flounders for a second. And then three. By the time he gathers his wits, the other is already offering him his hand. He grabs onto it, the warm weight grounding him briefly, as the blonde pulls him back to his feet. 

“It’s not bad. Not at all,” He says, releasing his hand with a quiet thank you. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Park Seonghwa.” He realizes only after it leaves his mouth that the other man knows exactly who he is. Most of the country does. That does not mean there is any less necessity for a proper introduction. 

The blonde smiles again. The fuzzy feeling that pits in Seonghwa’s stomach is like the carbonation that comes with drinking a soda. It’s not unappreciated, but just slightly uncomfortable. And, God, he has not felt it in years. 

“Kim Hongjoong. It’s nice to finally meet you in person, sir.” 

“Please, don’t call me sir.”

The other frowns at the suggestion. “At least let me call you hyung. It’s awkward otherwise,” he laughs casually and the sound is like seashells tinkling against stark white sand. “You’re nowhere near as uptight as everyone says.” It’s only after he says it that his eyes go wide. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

Seonghwa can only burst into a fit of giggles. It’s bizarre to let his walls come down in front of someone he only just met. Something is different though. Speaking with Hongjoong feels almost familiar. It’s quite like coming home at the end of a long day. Or leaning into the flickering flames of a lit candle. There is a little voice in the back of his mind, screaming for him not to touch it; to not push any further. But the louder one, the one that seems to overpower all of his thoughts and actions, tells him that it won’t burn him if he moves quickly. 

So, he asks, “Are you sure we haven’t met before?” Only to watch shock flash across Hongjoong’s expression. It’s only a brief moment; miniscule and impossible to catch if one wasn’t already staring into his soft brown eyes. His face schools quickly though as the blonde shakes his head.

“Positive.” He adds a wink. “I just got hired on for the upcoming commercial project. I’ll be the one remixing the music and running general edits,” Hongjoong says, casting a glance towards the glittering silver watch on his thin wrists. The man sucks in a sharp breath before skittering back a few steps. “Shit. Sorry, hyung, but speaking of the project…” He points in the direction of the media studio wing and gestures at the tiny clock face. “I’m late to the first meeting.” 

Seonghwa laughs quietly. “I’ll make sure they can’t fire you, but go. You don’t want to miss anything.” The blonde shoots him a thankful smile and waves as he sprints down the hall. Fire was meant to burn. It was meant to scald and blister the skin. So, why did Seonghwa’s heart yearn to hold onto it and never let go?

It’s a month later when the ember that Seonghwa fought to smother catches flame again. His father’s company chose to have a midnight gala on the night of March’s full moon. Themed in celestial coating, he pleaded with the director to let him avoid it. It was not because the newest episode of the historical drama he had been gobbling up was dropping that night. It was because that would be the night that Yeosang was planning to visit his parents. Seonghwa would have the house to himself for the first time since the incident. It would be his space for just a single night. His space that he did not have to share with his dearest friend and whose touch he pretended did not make him want to throw up. A bed where he did not have to cradle the sleeping form of the man he trusted most with everything but his heart. Instead, his father made him negotiate that he would attend the gala for at least two hours. 

“If you want to make like Cinderella and leave once the clock strikes two,” his father said, “I will not stop you. You’re the CEO now, Hwa. They need to see your face.”

Maybe he was bitter. Bitter that Yeosang did not have to go to the same extent that he did to guarantee their place in life. Bitter that he had to spend his night letting random corporate executives he had only met a handful of times buy him drinks and flirt with his money. Bitter that this situation was not at all his kind of perfect. However, he nodded solemnly and allowed his father to pat him on the shoulder before he left the office. 

The stylists knew how to work with him though. Even when he was in a ‘mood’, they made decent small talk and pushed his dark hair back from his face in the way that they had done since he was eleven. Gelled back with a single piece hanging over his forehead to present that ‘tousled’ look. Perfect, but seemingly effortless. The royal blue, velvet suit they threw him into was stunning. He could not complain about his appearance. Truly, he could not complain at all. 

Until an hour into the gala when exhaustion hit. It had been a revolving door of clients. Mrs. Banks, the wife of the tea specialist Mr. Banks, did not stop running her manicured, red nails up and down his arm the entire ten minutes she had him in her claws. Dr. Fria had a way with words when he was not slurring through eight champagne flutes. Even Song Mingi, a descendent of Papaver, had a way of draining his energy, true to his Poppy-based lineage. It was no one’s fault that he truly felt like he was dying. However, it was exactly where he ended up.

By the time he was able to sneak out to the balcony, Seonghwa was certain that his feet could hardly carry his weight a moment longer. The chilled spring air struck him like a whip. It took his breath away the second its lovely tendrils caressed his sticky skin. Perhaps that was why he was seated against the white marble columns when a familiar voice rang out through the space. 

“Oh, I didn’t know anyone was out here,” it said. Seonghwa pulled his head out from between his knees to meet the same soft brown gaze that plowed him over only a month prior. “Mr. Park, wonderful to see you again.” He was slurring. Hardly, but it was still there. Perhaps, he was more of a lightweight than Seonghwa. The idea was almost hilarious in his gently buzzed state. 

As the man slammed his ass down beside him, Seonghwa could only chuckle. “Didn’t know that you were going to be here, Hongjoong,” he said, rolling his shoulder just enough to hear a satisfying pop. “Maybe, it would have been more fun.” Hongjoong gave him a toothy grin. _How did one person have so many teeth?_

“Why do you sound like the party’s almost over?” The younger man asked, his eyes glittering mischievously. 

His promise to his father was the only thing that had been pulling Seonghwa through the night. “What time is it?” Seonghwa asked, a hand resting on the cool stone beneath him. Hongjoong frowned as he lifted his wrist to check the time. Moments pass before the blonde barks out a loud laugh. 

“I can’t read this.” The clock face is suddenly all Seonghwa can see as the other man shoves it into his view. The analog style is difficult to process when the world is swimming, the CEO has to admit. However, it is clear that they are quickly approaching his expiration date. It has only just hit 1:56AM. “Does the time matter to you, Cinderella?”

Seonghwa chuckles again, pushing the other man’s wrist out of his face. “It does actually. I promised my father that I would stay until 2AM and no later.” He rolls his shoulder again; the dull ache that seems to grow stronger by the day also seems to become more annoying with intoxication. “Frankly, my bed is calling my name.”

Hongjoong hums. Seonghwa watches as the other man seems to slump forward. A second passes before the blonde says, “You never change.” The words are soft, so soft. But Seonghwa knows what he heard. When he turns to the man in alarm, however, Hongjoong is not looking at him. 

“I’m sorry?” 

It’s as though the younger forgot he was there. That they had been having a conversation. He jumps slightly and giggles nervously; eyes wide. “Time is a finicky thing, huh?” 

“It is,” Seonghwa says, finally standing. “It really is.” 

It’s then that Hongjoong surges upwards; moving as though he forgot to turn off the oven. Seonghwa immediately flails and grabs onto the man’s upper arms, as though afraid the younger will tumble with the sudden movement. Silence falls over the two. Above them, the moonlight sings a hymn to her thousands of twinkling stars. Her celestial beauty embraces the two men with silver light just as Hongjoong leans forward slightly and asks, “Can you kiss me?” 

Seonghwa does not need to be asked a second time. Immediately, his lips press against the shorter man’s with all of the tenderness of a dying sun. It’s like two galaxies spiraling into each other without a care in the world. The universe could implode and, for once, Seonghwa could not care. His senses are consumed only by the tantalizing taste of strawberry chapstick, and caramel, and whatever monstrosity the man was drinking from the open bar. The amber bright scent of lavender of Hongjoong’s cologne. _Dolce and Gabbana Light Blue._ Hongjoong is a storm trapped inside a snow globe and it’s obvious just with the way his lips work against Seonghwa’s own.

He could have had this. He could have had forever with this if the hierarchy did not exist. If the company was not built on the age old tale of the stupid floral genetics that his own family chose to create. They had placed themselves at the top with a simple strain of Magnoliaceae and given their bloodline nothing of interest aside from the nobility of being alive. Yet, somehow, that meant every action– every pinprick, every breath– was calculated. It had to be perfect. He had to be perfect. And this was a misstep. 

It was a misstep, but he could not stop. It was a dance that was unfolding to the full orchestra within his soul and his spirit dragging him by the hand further and further into the fray. It was entirely unplanned and oh-so-perfect. Hongjoong’s soft sighs. His delicate features pressed against Seonghwa’s. The man was perfect. It was something he had never felt with Yeosang. The blooming and withering of roses, too quick to really be understood, and the tender embrace of what it was to be truly alive. Hongjoong held him like he was glass. At that point, though, he probably was. 

It was the reminder that he would never have this. That no matter how hard he worked for the clean cut edge of a mirror’s pristine surface to reflect his love, there would be none of that. The thought of his fiance, bent over the marble kitchen island, shatters that thought like a ricocheting bullet. If Yeosang could find comfort in another, why couldn’t he? Why was Seonghwa locked into the minefield of life without a hand to hold while his fiance could have two? Hongjoong seems to sense the sudden tension in Seonghwa’s shoulders and he pulls away.

Lips kiss-bruised and swollen, he pouts up at the older. His golden skin tinged with the playful crimson dusting of exertion and intoxication, he looks ethereal in the pale moonlight. Even as he opens his mouth to ask something, his beauty rivals even the most vivid aurora. Magnolia-blood be damned, Seonghwa is just a man. A man tired of perfection and platonic soulmates. Tired of lying. It’s when Hongjoong tries to speak that the flash goes off just off to the side of the balcony. 

Seonghwa whips around, his heart hammering, and locks eyes with a stray journalist. The man had the audacity to shrug as he climbed back into the car parked just beneath them and, for a moment, the CEO’s breath hitches in his chest. As the black SUV pulls away from the curb and speeds off into the distance, he can only imagine the headlines in the morning. It’s a misstep. 

Hongjoong stares at him, eyes brimming with unshed tears, and the only thing that leaves his lips is, “Oh fuck.” Despite the terror running its icy drip through his veins, Seonghwa can’t stop the guffaw that leaves his throat. _Oh fuck indeed._ Before Hongjoong can run away, the older reaches a careful hand out to pull the man to his chest. 

“This was not a mistake, Hongjoong,” He says into the blonde’s hair. He touched-up his roots, Seonghwa notes dully, and he presses a kiss to the crown of his head. “It’s okay.” _It’s okay._ It has to be okay. _“I’ll fix it,”_ He says. This time, he does not know if he’s speaking to the angel in his arms or the moon smiling down on them.

In the morning, the news has spread across South Korea within what feels like hours. Yeosang, alerted by the press and his parents, arrives home earlier than expected. Upon entering the apartment, he beelines straight to their shared bedroom. Seonghwa’s crumpled frame has not moved since nearly 5AM and he is completely curled in on himself, but wide awake. Yeosang, tender and beautiful Yeosang, molds his own body against Seonghwa’s back like a cat in the sunlight. He presses a careful kiss to the older’s jaw. 

“I saw the news, Hwa,” he says against the sensitive skin. “Wooyoung told me everything.” The phrasing makes Seonghwa almost laugh as he rolls onto his other side. The two face each other for a few moments before Yeosang’s thumb is brushing away stray tears that streak down Seonghwa’s cheeks. It’s a soft, delicate moment. One that they have had a hundred times before. But for the first time, they are on the same page. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew?” Yeosang asks quietly.

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

Yeosang barks out a laugh. He grabs the sides of the dark-haired man’s face with tender resolve. “You were upset, Hwa. You were upset and you should have told me about it so we could have talked about this.”

Seonghwa pulls the other man closer until he is able to tuck Yeosang’s head into the space between his chin and shoulder. “No sense in upsetting two of us at the same time.” Yeosang sighs breathily into Seonghwa’s skin. “We love each other, Yeosang, just…”

“Not like that,” His fiance finishes for him. “We’ve never loved each other like that.”

“Do you love him?”

Yeosang pauses with the question. Both of them know, though, that there is no sense in lying now. “Jongho?” He asks. He feels the way Seonghwa’s head moves atop of his own. _Yes_. “I guess you could say that,” he murmurs. “He makes me feel whole; like I’m finally my own person and he’s just there to support me.” Seonghwa nods again. “Do you love the man you were with?”

It’s too early to answer that. He hardly knows Hongjoong. And yet, something in him proclaims that they have known each other for years. That this meeting was just bound to happen. So, he settles on the answer that comes most easily. “I could,” he says, “In time, I think I really could.” _It always comes back to time._

“So, we’ll keep doing this,” Yeosang says once he has pulled Seonghwa into their kitchen to eat something. “You and I.” The older nods, carefully sipping the milk tea his fiance prepared for him. “It pleases our parents and we can still see Jongho and Hongjoong. This apartment is our safe place.”

“Our own personal Eden,” Seonghwa remarks. The thought is bizarre to him. His best friend, his platonic soulmate, seeing someone that isn’t him. Seonghwa kissing someone that isn’t Yeosang. However, that does not mean they have to risk their forever. They still had a forever, just with a little something added in. Yeosang had a forever, and if this made him stop trying to end that timeline, it was the best thing for both of them. With work, it could be perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Hello, loves! I'm back again with whatever this is. That's really all I got so uhhh, I'll be back in a few days with the next chapter. Yeet.
> 
> (Also, I researched acorns for this and their scientific name has been on a loop in my brain for the last 17 hours.)
> 
> Find me on Twitter or Insta: @KyojinOuji  
> I always follow back and love new friends.
> 
> Cheers! ❀


	2. Dying in a Hot Tub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❀ TW: Graphic Depictions of Violence; Death ❀

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Please listen to the TWs!
> 
> (Also, peep the Spotify playlist that goes with the fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ❀

> [ _ “You're looking skinny, you sleepy head. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=KaJuWzOFRkqdG_7slFVkHw)
> 
> [ _ Well, have you gotten out of bed? _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=KaJuWzOFRkqdG_7slFVkHw)
> 
> [ _ Have you gotten out of bed? _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=KaJuWzOFRkqdG_7slFVkHw)
> 
> [ _ Getting concerned about my lonely friend. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=KaJuWzOFRkqdG_7slFVkHw)
> 
> [ _ Have you seen yourself today? _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=KaJuWzOFRkqdG_7slFVkHw)
> 
> [ _ You're gonna need a haircut and a shave.” _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=KaJuWzOFRkqdG_7slFVkHw)
> 
> [ **_Dying in a Hot Tub_ ** _ \- Palaye Royale _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=KaJuWzOFRkqdG_7slFVkHw)
> 
> * * *

The man before him is beautiful. Be it swathed in the cradling beams of the moon or the rays of the sun, he is every word for stunning. And with the iced macchiato wrapped tightly in his fingers, Seonghwa almost wishes that it was the palm of his hand pressing against the other man’s flesh. Only Kim Hongjoong could pull him to the corner cafe at 9am on a Sunday morning. 

Coffee has never settled right with him. The subtle tremor that arose in his nerves made his hands shake noticeably. It was necessary, though, after he spent the last twenty-four hours dreading this conversation. The party had been on Friday night. The press release early Saturday morning. Now, they were sitting in the very public eye while trying to have a very private conversation. And maybe they could have done this in his apartment. However, Yeosang had been planning to have Jongho over for lunch and, frankly, Seonghwa could sense the lust roll off of his best friend in waves. He would most certainly not be back to their apartment until long after ‘lunch’ was over. 

He trusted this cafe. It was the same one that came as a bonded pair to the bakery that sold Yeosang’s favorite pastries and honey bread. In all honesty, any sweet thing was his fiance’s favorite. If there was enough sugar to cause an instant cavity, it was exactly what the immortal wanted in his bloodstream. Sitting here with the man of his dreams, the last person Seonghwa should be thinking about is Yeosang. But his friend had been his anchor for nearly his entire life. Moving in this new direction was not something he had experience with. 

“So,” Hongjoong breaks the silence in the way the he has been so wonderful at over their last few meetings. “Your fiance told you to chase after me?”

Seonghwa chuckles and pulls a sip of his coffee. The bitter taste slams into the back of his throat unpleasantly and he must grimace. When he looks down, Hongjoong has slid a few sugar packets in his direction with a grin. Tearing one open and watching the white crystals tumble to their dissolution, he says, “Well, you weren’t exactly running.” It’s Hongjoong’s turn to laugh and he does just that. The beautiful melody tugging on each of Seonghwa’s heartstrings as it dances through the air. 

“Who could run from lips like those?”

Seonghwa quirks a brow. “Possibly someone afraid of an engaged man’s fiance. Or maybe even their boss.” He could not ignore the fact that they were risking more than just his relationship with his family. Hongjoong’s job was on the line. Everything he had worked for to climb his way up the social ladder. Of course, by default Seonghwa’s job was as well. However, his job could not matter less to him. He had not slaved through the mistreatment of hundreds to get to his position. His father simply handed it to him the moment he turned eighteen. Hongjoong, though, only smiles at the quip. 

“I don’t run from challenges. Although,” He pauses, worrying the sensitive skin of his bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have asked you to kiss me. I knew that you were engaged.”

“I’ve known for months that Yeosang had other interests–”

“But I didn’t, hyung,” Hongjoong interrupts. His eyes narrow with the statement. Its the simple look that makes Seonghwa’s words die in the air. “You knew that Yeosang was seeing someone else. I had no idea. I asked an engaged man to kiss me.”

Seonghwa’s palms fall on top of the younger’s wrists. The flesh beneath them is comfortingly warm. “And I complied because I wanted to.” Hongjoong frowns slightly. “I’ve already explained everything, I know, but please understand, this is just as much my responsibility as it is yours.” The other chuckles under his breath, releasing a breath he did not seem to know he was holding.

“Can I meet him?” Hongjoong asks. In an instant, Seonghwa feels his eyebrows practically skyrocket into his hairline. “Yeosang, I mean. Do you think he would mind?” 

“You want to meet my fiance?” 

“I want to know you, Seonghwa. I don’t think I can really do that if I hide from the truth; physical or metaphorical.” Hongjoong gives him a soft smile. His honey gaze flits around the room, and once he decides that no one is paying attention to them, he leans forward until his lips press a feather-light kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek. “The past is the past, but the future is ours to mend.”

It’s how they end up sitting on the living room couch with Hongjoong almost in his lap. Across from them, Yeosang’s boyfriend sits cross legged in the leather lounge chair Seonghwa’s parents had purchased them when they moved in together. Yeosang, wearing nothing but an oversized sweatshirt and boxers, is practically wrapped around the youngest with a smug smile. Jongho, at first, was incredibly apprehensive of Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s arrival. Although the eldest had sent his fiance a text letting him know that they were on their way to the apartment, he knew the warning was hardly enough for one to mentally prepare themselves for the experience. As soon as the front door opened, Jongho had bolted straight to the bathroom and hid there for the first thirty minutes. Yeosang, however, treated the meeting like a second-degree interrogation.

“You met where?” Yeosang had asked. As Hongjoong repeated the story back to him for the third time, the younger finally thawed the cold expression from his face. He cracked a smile and held out a fist. “Workplace romance. Nice.” Uncertainly, Hongjoong had thumped his own fist against Yeosang’s as the younger beelined from the brown paper bag clutched in Seonghwa’s hands. “Muffins?”

“Of course,” he said, laughing as his fiance pecked his cheek quickly and sped off to the kitchen with the bag. A force of habit. Seonghwa glanced Hongjoong’s soft expression. It wasn’t quite sad or upset, but the action must have caught him off guard. Without thinking much of it, Seonghwa pulled the smaller man into his arms. “I’m sorry. We’ve always had a thing for skinship,” he pauses for a second, thinking about the rest of the group. “In reality, all of our friends do that sort of stuff. If it bothers you, though, I can talk to them about it.” 

Hongjoong kisses his jaw with a thankful smile. “I would never ask you to do anything like that, Seonghwa. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable; I just need to adjust.” The blonde nuzzles into his neck with a sigh. “Although, I’m tired from the walk. Do you think we could…?” He trails off, motioning towards the couch. The moment they hit the cushions, Seonghwa’s feet scream their praises. 

Seonghwa watches as Hongjoong’s attention drifts to the mantle behind him. Photos of dozens of events and people line the small shelf. Slowly, he treads closer until his attention lands on the square, synthetic glass frame. Pressed between two acrylic pieces is the small bundle of blue forget-me-nots Seonghwa had found in his pocket the morning of the incident. It was an odd memento to keep, but something about the dainty flowers struck him as familiar. Reassuring, even. Hongjoong smiles softly at the piece. 

“What are these?” He asks quietly.

“Yeosang put them in my pocket one morning before work. He never really told me why,” Seonghwa responds. “They’re pretty though, aren’t they?” Hongjoong hums in agreement. For a breath, his expression is almost sorrowful. However, the scene is shattered as Yeosang wails on the bathroom door with his fist; demanding Jongho come out for food.

At the mention of muffins, Jongho resurfaces from his isolation. Accidentally, his gaze lands on Seonghwa’s. For a quick second, he looks away, only to pull his eyes back with a little more confidence. Jongho continues to stare at him as though he has never seen the other man in his life. To be fair, he definitely hasn’t in person. Even so, Seonghwa gets hit with the gut-punch of the kitchen island memory. The visage of Yeosang’s keening mewls. The slap of skin. Bile rises in his throat with ferocity. Carefully, he pulls Hongjoong closer to his side as the other couple finally comes back into the living room. 

The tension shatters immediately as Yeosang sizes up the two. “You know, it doesn’t have to be this awkward,” Yeosang states, blunt as always. Staring directly at Hongjoong, the younger smiles with the same humor that Seonghwa has seen in his expression hundreds of times over their friendship. Yeosang had never been keen on showing the full spectrum of his emotions. His heart was nowhere near his sleeve. Instead, he chose to shove it as far away from the world’s prying gaze as he possibly could. If this meant losing relationships, that was fine. 

When Seonghwa asked him about it, Yeosang had only offered a quiet explanation, long after he thought his fiance was asleep beside him. Bearing his secrets only for the spiders in the cracks and crevices of their bedroom, he whispered, “It makes things easier. No one is going to be here forever.” As his voice disappeared from the atmosphere, Seonghwa fought against the salty drip of tears as he listened to the other man’s breathing even out in sleep. 

Staring at his fiance now, wrapped in Jongho’s arms while trying to eat a muffin while the other scrolls through his phone, Seonghwa can only smile. Even when they thought that it would be them, together, at the end of the world, he had never expected to see the other grow so comfortable with someone else. This space was their own garden of Eden. To share and cherish, but also to grow within. 

In response to Yeosang’s question, Hongjoong can only chuckle quietly. “I wasn’t sure what to say.” Hongjoong gestures around the place helplessly. “You have a nice place…?” It comes out as a question rather than a compliment. Silence settles for a brief moment. It’s enough for Seonghwa to suck in a quick breath before a fit of deep giggles leaves Yeosang’s throat. 

“That’s what you came up with?” Seonghwa asks, his fingers pressing gently into Hongjoong’s side. The blonde squeaks in panic. It’s a sound that leaves Seonghwa wanting more, but instead, he settles for laughing softly into the skin of Hongjoong’s neck as he buries his nose deep. The delicate scent of coffee still seems to linger on his clothes from their earlier excursion. He feels himself smile against the flesh. This was perfection. It was warm, unadulterated joy in its simplest form. And how he could grow so used to it; just sitting with this group and breathing as though there was not a guillotine’s glittering blade dangling far above their necks. 

Hongjoong groans in frustration. “It was the first thing I thought of,” he mumbles. Yeosang’s tittering sound seems to have faded from the air just as Jongho cracks his own grin. The brunette rolls his eyes with dramatic flare as he gestures at the curtains hanging from the balcony windows. 

“If it makes you feel better, hyung, the first thing I pointed out was the embroidery.”

Hongjoong squints at the fabric. It’s an off-white lace, but from this distance, the details are impossible to see. “Is there embroidery on those?” He asks. It takes Yeosang’s second fit of laughter to break the concentration. 

At the same time, Jongho and Seonghwa both sigh, “No, there’s not,” just as Yeosang folds himself in half. His laughter is infectious, however, and the entire group falls into a comfortable rhythm after that. Not for the first time in his life, Seonghwa finds himself wondering if this was okay. If being this happy, this at home, was something he was allowed to be.

Even as a more serious topic enters the airstream, it is done with delicacy. All of them recognize the urgency, but why risk what paradise they have created for such a consuming priority? Every soul in the room was after the same thing. The feeling of warm sun-kissed skin and fizzy carbonation in their gut. There was no reason to dampen the dream that they all held. And yet…

“So, we agree then?” Jongho asks, his thick brows furrowed in focus. “We need rules. Boundaries. Things that can’t be broken just because someone wants a quick out.” 

Hongjoong nods. “Of course. We’re playing a dangerous game and, honestly, I know the reward outweighs the risk. However, I’m not one to play for all or nothing.” The other’s hum quietly. Seonghwa’s thumb traces careful shapes on the back of Hongjoong’s hand as the man fiddles with one of the many rings wrapped around his fingers.

Yeosang untangles himself from Jongho’s embrace. His bare feet pad, gentle as the night, to the wooden dry sink in front of the entryway. He pulls open a drawer, gathers a pen and notebook, and travels back to his seat. Resting carefully on the arm of the leather chair, he looks to the rest of the group and says, “A contract.”

“Like we’re going to sign it?” Seonghwa frowns. “If someone finds it, they’ll have proof–”

“We’ll burn it after,” Hongjoong interrupts. “It’ll help us get our thoughts in order and also give us a chance to weigh values.” As the other man finishes speaking, Seonghwa hums in agreement. It does make sense, truly, but the thought of self-incrimination is alarming. It is the kind of ordeal that his past self would never agree to. One with so many routes to possible imperfection and danger. Maybe that’s why the words leave his mouth so freely.

“Let’s do it then.”

The rules are as simple as they can be. 

_ 1.) Limited contact in the public eye; _ which means no dates or outings that could be considered romantic or misconstrued by the media. By that, it practically can be chalked up to never being alone with each other if there could be a journalist nearby. The thought makes Seonghwa bitter in a frantic sense. Paranoid every time the light changes and a shadow appears around the corner bend, his heart rate quickens like a fox on the run. 

_ 2.) All physical contact remains in the apartment at all times. _

_ 3.) Yeosang and Seonghwa must keep up appearances.  _ Once a week, public dates are required for exposure. Casual outings are also important so that the media does not grow suspicious. If they were to limit everything to romance, the paparazzi would immediately catch on to the fact that something was amiss. On almost thirty occasions, simple photos of the fiances grocery shopping or eating fast food went viral in news articles. It was the stupid domestic side of it all that society clung to like flies on rot. 

_ 4.) Keep mentions of partners’ names to the bare minimum.  _

And finally, the most important rule of them all found its way onto the note. With bile rising in this throat, Seonghwa watched his pen scrawl his signature onto the dotted line directly beneath the inky black font. With a grimace, he reread the words. Once. Then, twice. By the third time, his heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. 

_ 5.) Seonghwa and Yeosang will go through with the wedding in five months. _

_ ✧ ❀ ✧ _

It is three months of keeping up the same facade. Three months of curling up on the apartment couch with a cup of tea and a lust for life. Three months of balcony dinners and moonlight sonatas. Three months of stolen kisses and sweet flesh. Three months of truly, and honestly, being alive; of being happy. And then, within an instant, it is gone. Ripped away from the four men within seconds and the spread of a blurry photo online.

That day, Hongjoong had grown desperate for some kind of public outing. Obviously, not just between the two of them. Instead, he asked the group if they would consider a picnic in the park. The sun was brilliant far above them and the weather just right to spend the afternoon in the delicate breeze.

“The four of us. Maybe, Wooyoung and Mingi too? They could bring their boyfriends,” The younger had begged, eyes glittering with hopeful expectations. “Please, Hwa, what is the worst that could happen?” To his surprise, the others agreed without a second thought. Yeosang, hanging off of the edge of the bed, shrugged as the verbal invitation fluttered through the air. 

“If everyone else is there, I think we’d be okay,” Yeosang commented, rolling until his frame pressed against Jongho’s side. The other man, scrolling mindlessly through social media, only grunted in response. Hongjoong, nonetheless, took it as two votes in his direction. Bouncing on his heels, he turned to cast a massive smile in Seonghwa’s direction. In that moment, he was the sun itself. Easily, the oldest could live without ever going outdoors again, if Hongjoong’s brilliance remained in his orbit. 

The experience was not a difficult one to set up. After shooting out a quick text to Mingi and Wooyoung, the two responded with the okay within minutes. By the time 2pm rolled around, the eight men were gathered around a pile of various snacks and sandwiches in the center of a neighborhood park. It was not the busiest he had ever seen the area, but Seonghwa still found himself paranoid. Nearby, a group of teens chased wildly after a soccer ball, but they were the only others in the same region. Even so, every nerve ending of Seonghwa’s was on fire. Flickering like a candle flame, this time, he found himself terrified of being burned. It only worsened when Hongjoong’s fingers absent-mindedly brushed against his as they both reached for the carton of strawberries at the same time. 

Withdrawing his hand as though he had been scalded, Seonghwa sucked against his teeth quickly. The sound drew the attention of the rest of the group. Yunho, Mingi’s boyfriend of three years, raised a curious eyebrow in his direction. The oldest found himself only shrugging, a palm on the back of his neck in embarrassment, as he avoided the gaze of the others.

“You alright?” Yeosang’s hand found his free one, intertwining their fingers until warmth swept over the skin. “You made a weird noise there, love.” The phrase was like a wooden stake being driven into his heart. He knew that they had to keep up appearances. It had yet to be revealed to the other four what exactly their contract was. Or rather, that there was one in the first place. Yeosang had not even mentioned the ordeal to Wooyoung. That alone was enough to dump salt onto the wound. It was only made worse when Seonghwa’s eyes locked onto Hongjoong’s from across the circle. 

The man’s stare was blank, however, Seonghwa watched the way his dainty fingers plucked at the grass blades beside him. One by one, he dropped them onto the picnic blanket before flicking his finger carefully. Each piece lifted from the fabric and settled back into the soil with repaired grace. Hongjoong had revealed early on in their relationship to be part of the Santalales line. By an odd turn of fate, it just so happened to be the same descendancy that San came from, however, Hongjoong was quick to state that his own family was relatively far removed from the genetic pool. 

Santalales descendents were well-known magic users. During childhood, they were required to select a specific style of magical ability and focus their training on that. Hongjoong explained that his own abilities were not potent enough to master a single course of study. Unlike San, who spent his days embracing practical luck, an intensive and rigorous ability, Hongjoong had selected to work with basic repair. The first time he showed Seonghwa his skill, it was after the mug he had borrowed from Yeosang landed on the tile and shattered into a dozen pieces. Hongjoong simply flicked his wrist, however, and within seconds, it was as though nothing had ever happened to the ceramic. When Seonghwa asked if the ability would work on the countertop Jongho had singed weeks earlier after leaving his curling iron plugged in, Hongjoong shook his head quietly. 

“It only works right after something happens. I have a few minutes max, but even then, it’s fragile magic,” he mumbled. “Time plays a big role in a lot of things. People really don’t realize.” 

Now, watching the way the glass blades mend with the Earth, he knows exactly what Hongjoong is saying. Maybe it’s the glance or the careful shift of Seonghwa’s shoulders, but the younger is suddenly standing. From his lap, stray grass rains onto his plate like organic confetti. Wooyoung makes a weird sound, somewhere between a squeal and a yelp, as he brushes a few pieces from his pants. Hongjoong smiles sheepishly, uttering a soft apology, as he turns on his heel. 

“I’m going to see if I can find a vending machine. I kind of want a different soda,” he says, already walking away as Mingi pushes the cooler in his direction. With a frown, Mingi glances at Seonghwa. It’s a quizzical expression, one that Seonghwa can’t exactly piece together, but before he can ask about it, San is gesturing in the direction Hongjoong began to travel. 

“Should one of us go with him? From what I ‘ve heard, the guy isn’t great with directions.” Seonghwa misses the dimpled grin that comes with the statement, because within seconds, he is separating himself from Yeosang’s grasp. The boy’s fingers wrap around the material of his shirt as he begins to move away from the group. It’s a silent plea.  _ Let me go instead.  _ As the man tries to stand, Seonghwa places both hands on his shoulders and pushes him back down gently. 

He presses a soft kiss against the blonde’s forehead. Yeosang sighs into the touch, but his perfect eyebrows are still furrowed when the older pulls away. Quietly, he says, “I’ll be back, Sangie. Don’t start any fights.”

Yeosang only frowns and offers a whispered, “No promises.” Some part of him does not mind if the others find out. However, the more people that know, the more the game delves into the territory of Russian Roulette. This is the kind of game where all chambers except one are filled with a silver bullet. His feet carry him far from safety before anyone else can speak to him. 

Beneath his boots, the rocky pathways crunch with every step. There are no vending machines in the area, he knows that much, but Hongjoong seems to walk much quicker than he expected. The oldest has only just begun to lose hope when a familiar flash of blonde hair catches his attention. Hongjoong is crouched beneath the concrete bike bridge, hidden from the footpath, with his face buried deep in his hands. He does not look up as Seonghwa approaches, even as the man kneels carefully beside him.

“Joong? Are you alright?” His voice is soft. For a moment, it feels like he is speaking to a wild animal that could run at any moment. Quite literally, Hongjoong could. He could bolt out of here and end everything without looking back. Instead, the younger mumbles something into his palms. “Can you repeat that?” 

Hongjoong groans, finally lifting his head, and immediately Seonghwa is at a loss for words. The other man’s face is bright pink with an emotional flush. In his lashes, dozens of little tears glitter like the night sky. Even the way his voice cracks as he begins to ramble is stunning. Celestial. Perfect in every way that a human should not be.

“I said,” he reiterates, his tone wavering, “I can’t stand watching him touch you like that.” The words make Seonghwa blink wildly for a moment.  _ Yeosang,  _ his mind supplies, slow on the uptake. “Every time he gets to hold your hand or kiss you just because you’re supposed to be engaged, I feel like my heart is going to shrivel up. It’s horrible, Hwa.”

The air settles between them. Of course it would hurt Hongjoong. He was the one being forced to pretend that he was single, but also, could never take anyone else home when they did go out. He always had to have an excuse on the backburner when the others asked him about his love life. Once, San even tried to set him up on a blind date from work. Hongjoong and Jongho, by all means, were the ones living a bigger lie than Seonghwa or Yeosang. 

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa whispers. Within seconds, he has pulled the other man to his chest. Hongjoong cries out quietly, until suddenly, the noise grows into something reminiscent of a sob. All the older can do is cradle him. With each heavy breath, the weight on Seonghwa’s shoulders grows until he feels as though he will fold in half under its burden. Before he can think about the action, he is pressing his lips to Hongjoong’s temple. They return to the group carefully. Every step in their direction an absent-minded tug on the red string that connects them all. 

When they reveal the truth, the four who were kept out of the loop only stare at them as though they grew a third eye. Within seconds, Yunho is giggling. “Was that a secret? You guys thought we wouldn’t notice?” As he speaks, Mingi pulls out his phone, only for Yunho, Wooyoung, and San’s phones all pinging with a notification. From his place across the circle, Hongjoong gasps.

“You bet on us?” 

“And I lost spectacularly,” Mingi grumbles. He sets his phone back onto the blanket with a dull thump. “You really couldn’t have stuck with you had, hyung?” He directs the question towards Seonghwa, but Yeosang is evidently the one to take offense as he pelts a chip in the Papaver’s direction. For the first time in weeks, however, Seonghwa feels light. 

Time is a finicky thing, however, and on the walk home, his own cell is ringing. As he pulls the device from his pocket, his father’s ID lights up the screen with rare tenacity. Casting a worried glance towards Jongho, Yeosang, and Hongjoong, he distances himself as he presses the green ‘accept’ key. Within seconds, his father’s voice is rumbling through the speaker. 

“For the love of God, Seonghwa, check your emails,” he complains. Something in his voice tinges with sincerity, and Seonghwa carefully minimizes the call. As his correspondence app opens, he is immediately greeted with an influx of tabloid articles. Heart crystallizing as ice pools in the base of his spine, he opens the most realistic one first. Instantly, his screen features dozens of pictures of the group’s picnic. However, the worst two photo sets feature Yeosang and Seonghwa separately. 

In one, Yeosang is seen entering the park’s public bathroom, quickly followed by Jongho. The next image is taken very seedily through the bathroom’s small, crosshatched window. Jongho has Yeosang crowded against the sink and is pressing him into a heated kiss. His fingers tugging on the blonde’s hair, just enough to expose his neck. The following sequence is of the stolen make-out session, one after another, and immediately Seonghwa fights the urge to throw up. Already unsure of how it could get worse, he hardly manages a response as his father waits on the other end. 

“Yeosang didn’t–” He tries again and again to get the words out. His father, for once in his life, does not speak. He does not force his way into the conversation. Instead, he lets his son fumble. “That’s not Yeosang.”  _ Idiot _ . Who else would it be? Finally, his father speaks. 

“And I’m assuming that is not you? Nor is it the same whore you found at the gala?”

“Hongjoong isn’t–” He knows his mistake immediately. As the name leaves his mouth, he instantly scrambles to mend the wound he ceremoniously just ripped into his partner’s soul. Everything they have. Everything Hongjoong has worked toward. For a moment, Seonghwa thinks his father won’t catch the mistake. That he won’t piece Hongjoong’s name to one of his own employees. However, his father was never dense.

“Hongjoong? Do you mean Kim Hongjoong? The music lead?”

“Father, please, this is my fault–”

“Tell  _ Hongjoong  _ that he can expect his final payment within the week,” he pauses, his deep voice hardly registering as the man who raised him drives one final knife between the tapered vertebrae of his spine. “I thought you were worth more than this, Seonghwa.” 

Seonghwa stumbles. He stumbles as his father hangs up the phone. He stumbles as he throws himself against the rim of a very public trash bin and empties his stomach. He stumbles as he takes three steps and collapses into a ball onto the concrete. He had only wanted to be perfect. 

By the time the other three usher him into their Garden of Eden, he has finally glanced at the photos again. The other set is of him and Hongjoong. It is nowhere near the level of detailed, disgusting stalking that the journalist committed to when it came to photographing the other couple, however, it showcases a more detailed story. 

In just three pictures, one can see the delicate love between the two men. Seonghwa cradling Hongjoong. Him speaking into the man’s ear. The gentle kiss. It’s three photos that destroy the world with a difficult blow. And rather than acknowledge it in the way that he thought Hongjoong would– by packing his bags and disappearing forever– the man only presses one kiss after another on his tear-stained cheeks. 

“There will be other companies. You still have your job; your father is not enough of a fool to remove his only heir from the top spot.” He’s right. His father had said nothing about what would happen to Seonghwa or Yeosang. Even as angry as the man is, a relationship is not enough to destroy a legacy. He cannot risk the Magnoliaceae line. Seonghwa’s gaze lingers on Yeosang’s trembling frame across the room. Almost in slow motion, the men fall into each other's arms and collapse onto the bed. Hongjoong and Jongho carefully settle down with them, afraid of destroying the moment, but desperate not to be separated. The apartment has always been their sanctuary. Even now, as the universe seems to crumble around them, it will stay that way. 

_ ✧ ❀ ✧ _

Within the months following, they find a place for their mistakes. Mistakes that quite truly have never been that. They are the most spectacular stars in the constellation of their lives. And at some point, it is almost like routine makes its way back into their lives. Both the Park and the Kang families choose to retain their connections. Yeosang and Seonghwa are, undoubtedly, allowed to continue seeing Jongho and Hongjoong, so long as they promise to maintain the company relationships. Despite Seonghwa’s father’s cold nature, the man is not necessarily cruel. Instead, he allows his son the smallest portion of freedom as a way the tug harshly on the leash that suffocates his son. 

Hongjoong, however, was removed from the company in a heartbeat. His final paycheck was hand-delivered by the silken glove of one of the company’s top media directors. As he left the doorway, he offered Hongjoong a subtle smile. “You’re talented, Hongjoong. Park is wrong for losing you. If you need a letter of recommendation for another company, I’ll be the first to give you it.” And he had done just that the moment Wooyoung informed them of an open position at his own family’s company. 

“It’s nothing major, but we are a talent agency,” he said with a wink. “If you want the position, I’m willing to go the extra mile and get you in with us, hyung.” The concept left Hongjoong fizzy with excitement. Within the month after the photos were leaked, the two had moved into the apartment directly across the hall from their old one. It was a mutual decision between both parties, however, Hongjoong’s main excuse was that Jongho and Yeosang would not have to remeasure the ‘embroidered’ curtains for the new place. It earned him a targeted smack to the shoulder from Jongho. Directly above the front door, Hongjoong also insisted they hang the pressed forget-me-nots. 

“They’re pretty. It would be a waste if we didn’t put them somewhere we always see them,” He said, standing on his tippy toes to press a chaste kiss to Seonghwa’s lips. As he tried to back away, Seonghwa pulled him back with a tight grip on his waist. He did not see a reason in waiting to make use of their new master bedroom. It was finally a place of their own. One for them to be unfiltered and absolutely themselves. And it was like standing in the ocean for the first time. The warm water lapping at their ankles. The sand beneath their toes. It was far from perfect, but for them, it was everything. 

The night the call came in that told Hongjoong he had secured the music coordination position at KQ Entertainment, he cried for three hours. The reaction, however, did not surprise Seonghwa in the slightest. After so much work, so many late nights and tearfilled conversations, it was what his boyfriend deserved. Above all else, he deserved happiness. While his own ability to mend things could not extend to his heart, the positive reinforcement that came with finally having a place that truly mattered could possibly repair it in the most organic way. 

His first assignment under the company’s leadership was to orchestrate the remixes for an entire dance showcase for new trainees. Wooyoung’s family just so happened to originate from the descendancy of Caryophyllaceae. Natural performers, they created KQ as a way to weed out anyone with special talents in the arts. Everything about the company existed to better the abilities of those that worked through it. It was no surprise that they would present such a grand-scale challenge as Hongjoong’s first experience with them. 

Night after night, Hongjoong stayed up in the spare room they had converted into an office. The ungodly hours leached into daylight, and as Seonghwa was just leaving for work, his boyfriend was just getting ready for bed. On the nights when Seonghwa had to practically force feed the blonde, he found himself wondering why the other man would go to such great lengths to produce his art. It was stunning, of course. With a single beat, he was able to capture the sharp edges and subtle curves of the most intricate melodies. Some produced melancholic harmonies of first love and lost interest. Others were nearly cacophonous, but never unattractive, and sought to convey the embers of rage that pitted deep in one’s chest. All had an emotion that laced through their beautiful scenery, however; the feeling of lost time.

When the showcase rolled around, the entire group found themselves in a state of awe as Wooyoung danced brilliantly to the melodies that Hongjoong produced. As an instructor and the prodigy of the company, Wooyoung was blessed with the ability to paint with invisible pigments. The draw of his figure kept the entire crowd on the edge of their seat. Paired with Hongjoong’s music, it was enough to bring the audience to tears. 

Hongjoong had remained backstage until they brought all of the performers and creators on stage for a final round of bows. Almost instantly, Seonghwa locked eyes with the creature that he called his. After the curtains closed, he found himself almost racing San to collide into their partners’ arms. Hongjoong hardly caught him as he flew through the air, crushing the bouquet of wildflowers Seonghwa carried between their chests. Without missing a beat, Seonghwa locked their lips together, tasting the salt from Hongjoong’s tears as they ran down his cheeks and pooled in his cupid’s bow. 

“You were incredible. God, no, you  _ are  _ incredible,” Seonghwa murmured as he pressed kiss after kiss to the man’s face. “How are you real?” Hongjoong could only laugh against his lips; their teeth clacking together painfully. 

“I ask myself the same thing about you every day,” he finally replies, pulling away slightly from the older. “Can we please go get food? Icecream? Anything, honestly, I’m starving.”

With a chuckle, Seonghwa tugs him through the crowded halls of performers and their families. As Hongjoong sends a quick text to the group chat that Yunho insisted they make, Seonghwa leads them through the streets of Itaewon. From a stand, they purchase containers of tteokbokki and lean back on a park bench. Hongjoong laughs every time Seonghwa leans over to help him wipe the spicy sauce from his lips. 

“You’re such a clean freak, Hwa,” He says, pressing a kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek. The older man immediately grimaces; the phantom fear of the sauce on his face leaking into his otherwise carefree mood. The action only makes Hongjoong laugh harder. In the neon lights of the district, Hongjoong glows as though he was never really there. Every movement seems synthetic, but at the same time, so angelic. Seonghwa can’t kick the dopey smile off of his own face, even as Hongjoong narrows his eyes in confusion. Comfortable silence falls over them before Seonghwa works up the nerve to ask Hongjoong the one question that has been lingering on his mind for months.

“Are you happy?”

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow. Gently, he slings his arm over Seonghwa’s shoulder and moves until he is practically on his lap. “What kind of question is that?” Upon hearing the older suck in a sharp breath, the blonde backtracks frantically. “I have never been happier, Park Seonghwa.”

“Can I ask you something, Joong?” Hongjoong hums softly, urging the other to continue. “Have you ever been in love?” Suddenly, the blonde freezes. His eyes grow comically wide as Seonghwa tries to alter the question in any way possible. For once, he would like to not make a fool of himself. “I mean–”

“Twice,” Hongjoong interrupts. “Only twice.” 

Seonghwa’s heart rate skyrockets. The dull buzz of his nerves suddenly catches fire within his soul as he tries to reroute the conversation. However, something pulls him back. He needs to know. “What happened?”

Hongjoong frowns, his gaze distant. “The same thing that happens to everyone,” he says thoughtfully. “Love comes unexpectedly and leaves all the same. You don’t just wake up one day and no longer feel the same way you always have. It’s gradual.” 

Seonghwa gulps. “Are you now?”

“Am I now…? What do you mean, Hwa?”

Biting the bullet, he forces the words out of his mouth. “Are you in love now?”

Something glitters in Hongjoong’s eyes. The neon sign closest to them changes to a brilliant violet, and then pink, just as the younger offers him a blinding smile. “That depends,” he says as he leans forward; his elbows settling on his knees. “Are you?”

“I think I could be,” Seonghwa stutters. “It took time, but I think I am in love with you, Kim Hongjoong.”

“Time is a finicky thing, you know. I’m glad, though,” Hongjoong says, looping his arms around Seonghwa’s neck carefully, “Because I know I am in love with you, Park Seonghwa.” It's a breath. A pinprick in history. A single star in the universe. It’s the way Seonghwa laughs as their teeth smack each other again. The way Hongjoong tastes like tteokbokki, strawberry chapstick, and something distinctly himself. It’s a breath, a pinprick in history, and a single star in the universe. It’s the sound of a gunshot echoing through the air. It’s the crippling agony that comes from somewhere between the base of Seonghwa’s ribs and his gut. Time is a finicky thing as Hongjoong screams in horror, his face splattered with crimson. 

_ Blood _ , Seonghwa’s mind mutters,  _ someone is bleeding _ . His gaze travels down to his navel, where his lover’s hands apply pressure, and he processes the slowly spreading red rose that spills from his body. It’s not a rose. It’s a wound.  _ It’s my blood. _

Time is a finicky thing as the world does fade to black for this curtain call. Instead, the universe seems to meet its technicolor heat death as Hongjoong’s terrified expression comes into view again. He can’t mend something this advanced, Seonghwa knows. No matter how desperately his lover wants to do it, the action is impossible. Instead, Seonghwa forces himself to place a hand on the man’s neck. 

“I’m certain,” he coughs, “I’m certain that I’m in love with you.”

“Shut up, Seonghwa, please,” the blonde begs, tears mingling with the liquid iron drying on his cheeks. “You need to listen to me this time, okay? You can’t forget me. Don’t forget me.” As the technicolor blast around them begins to disintegrate, the last thing the older man hears is, “I’ll find you. Just don’t forget me.” Finally, the universe lets him drift within her crystalline sea. 

When he opens his eyes next, it is to a bundle of blue forget-me-nots on the pillow next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Hello, Loves! I hope this chapter was alright. Sorry it was a lot to throw at you all. This fic is my first time making my own mythology outside of my actual novels. 
> 
> If you have any questions or just want to yell at me, you can find me on Twitter and Insta: @KyojinOuji  
> I always follow back and love new friends.
> 
> I'll be back with a new chapter in a few days!  
> Cheers! ❀


	3. The Other Side of Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ As always, I did not proofread. Let me know if there are any glaring mistakes!
> 
> (Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ❀

> [ _ “I think it's over now. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=k7Bc56JXRQWeKhx9WmFFHA)
> 
> [ _ The bullet hit, but maybe not. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=k7Bc56JXRQWeKhx9WmFFHA)
> 
> [ _ I feel so fucking numb. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=k7Bc56JXRQWeKhx9WmFFHA)
> 
> [ _ It hits my head and I feel numb. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=k7Bc56JXRQWeKhx9WmFFHA)
> 
> [ _ My body's looking wrong. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=k7Bc56JXRQWeKhx9WmFFHA)
> 
> [ _ Bye bye baby blue, I wish you could see the wicked truth. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=k7Bc56JXRQWeKhx9WmFFHA)
> 
> [ _ Caught up in a rush it's killing you. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=k7Bc56JXRQWeKhx9WmFFHA)
> 
> [ _ Screaming at the sun you blow into. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=k7Bc56JXRQWeKhx9WmFFHA)
> 
> [ _ Curled up in a grip when we were us; _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=k7Bc56JXRQWeKhx9WmFFHA)
> 
> [ _ Fingers in a fist like you might run. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=k7Bc56JXRQWeKhx9WmFFHA)
> 
> [ _ I settle for a ghost I never knew." _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=k7Bc56JXRQWeKhx9WmFFHA)
> 
> [ **_The Other Side of Paradise_ ** _\- Glass Animals_ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=k7Bc56JXRQWeKhx9WmFFHA)

* * *

The delicate petals smile at Seonghwa from their resting place. Unmoving, they should not feel so turbulent. So final. Even as his fingers wrap around their fragile stems, tugging them just enough to truly get a look at them, their existence tugs at his heart strings. Something sticks out in his memory. The vibrant blue and the soft yellow centers. A promise. He should remember. He knows that he  _ needs _ to remember. However, he hasn’t the slightest clue what it is. 

Instead, he leaves the forget-me-nots on the tan silk pillowcase– were they always tan?– and walks to his dresser. Work, as always, is going to drag on. Operating as his father’s secretary was never his dream. After San was caught in the office with Wooyoung’s dick halfway down his throat, Seonghwa was forced to take the job of one of his dearest friends. He understood why his father would want to remove the younger man from the company. What San had done was immature and, frankly, vulgar in the professional workplace. They were the top dogs of the leading bioresearch company in the world, for God’s sake. However, Seonghwa could not see why he was thrown into San’s vacant position. 

“It’ll keep your mind off of things, Hwa,” Director Park said over breakfast. “You need to come back to Earth for a bit. He’s long gone.” The man took a long sip of bitter coffee, his chilled gaze meeting Seonghwa’s over the edge of his mug. Present Seonghwa, however, stops in his tracks as he pulls a white, knit sweater over his pale, blue button-up.  _ Who was gone?  _ The face was present in his mind. Blonde hair framing a sharp bone structure. Eyebrows tweezed into sharp, pristine shapes. A smile filled with what always seemed like too many teeth.  _ Kang Yeosang. _

He remembered now. The way he found out from the paparazzi that his fiance, Yeosang, had been seeing another man. The other man, of course, had been none other than one of their shared best friends. Jongho apologized profusely, over and over, and eventually worked his way back into Seonghwa’s life. Yeosang, however, turned tail the moment the article went live across social networking platforms.

The immortal took one look at the way Seonghwa’s face fell as he re-entered their small apartment and mumbled a quick, ‘sorry’, before packing his things. It was only hours before Yeosang was completely moved-out of their home. A week by the time he moved to New York. A subtle glance at the calendar above his dresser showcases that it had officially been three months since he last had seen the man he once gave his entire heart to. 

He rushes through his morning routine, not so much because he is late, but because the empty apartment has a way of suffocating him. It is far too quiet. Enough so that the clock on the wall ticks away at his nerves with every passing second. In the back of his mind, a memory throws itself against its glass tank, begging to be pulled out. But even then, he can’t reach it. It’s as though every time his fingers settle around the wispy tendrils, it is ripped back out of his grasp in a cacophony of iridescent notes. There is a sweeter song out there, he knows, but for some reason he cannot figure out the melody. It sits on the tip of his tongue like honeyed candy, but never melts. 

As he walks the streets on his route to the office, his phone pings quietly from the pocket of his leather satchel. Fumbling, he pulls the device from the pouch. He hardly has a moment to check the notification that flashes on his screen when someone is shoving into his shoulder. With a yelp, he feels the asphalt of the crosswalk before it even collides with his ass. Groaning, he shifts onto his knees while someone stammers above him. 

“Mr. Park, I’m so sorry–” A man with cherry-red hair looms above him, gesturing frantically. Despite the chilled weather, he donns only a thin, black t-shirt and ripped jeans. From his ears, various metal piercings swing, glinting in the morning sun. He holds out a hand, offering to pull Seonghwa from the ground, and continues to babble. This man is beautiful. Angelic, even. He would know if he had ever met someone like this before. He would recognize the dozens of tattoos inking their way up his golden, toned arms. Seonghwa, especially, would recognize the smile filled with far too many teeth. Brilliant. Absolutely radiant. And oh so familiar. 

“I’m sorry do I know–” Before Seonghwa can finish the question, however, the man is waving him off and bouncing on the balls of his feet quickly. 

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Park, but I’m late for work. Also,” he points at the timer that steadily counts down how long they have to haul ass out of the middle of the busy street. “Time is a finicky thing! You should get a move on.” The final portion is said with a tinkling laugh as the red-head practically mixes a sprint and a skip to reach the other side of the sidewalk. The opposite direction of where Seonghwa is heading. As a driver honks angrily, Seonghwa sighs and jogs the rest of the way to his destination. Every step is filled with the synthetic sunlight the encounter spilled into his life. 

By the time lunch rolls around, Jung Wooyoung is barreling into the small space Seonghwa shares with his father for breaks. The days that the two can spend time together are few and far apart lately. Wooyoung had debuted as an entertainer in his parents’ talent company earlier in the year, and between practice and touring, he hardly was able to see anyone within the friend group. Even so, he always made time for Seonghwa. 

For a while, there had only been three of them. Yeosang and Seonghwa had been inseparable since birth. Their parents tried to get them together for the sake of their companies for nearly fifteen years before it finally happened. But somewhere in the middle, Wooyoung had appeared. His snot-nosed expression was the first memory Seonghwa had of the younger. 

They had met at one of the company galas. Seonghwa, eleven and uncomfortable in the crushed, red velvet the stylists threw him into, had been hiding beneath the snack table. He did not think that he had been gone that long, however, Yeosang’s beat-up converse appeared below the hem of the table cloth with someone else in tow. The shoes were ones that Yeosang fought for tooth and nail every time his parents forced him to attend any event. Put him in a suit, gel back his hair, hell even strap on a nice bow-tie, but he would not be leaving the house without the ratty footwear. 

They just so happen to be what Seonghwa focuses on as his friend slides into place next to him. Behind him, a black-haired child tumbles along. The boy had been crying, obviously, as his cheeks were puffy and tear-stained. With an eyebrow quirked, the oldest turned to gesture at the boy silently.  _ Who is this? _

Yeosang only shrugged.  _ I don’t know. I found him. Brought him with me.  _ The wordless conversation passed between the two effortlessly. They had been doing it for years; reading the body language of the other without having to utter a single thing aloud. The new boy, however, frowns at the others with a particular pout.

“What are you guys doing?” He sniffled, rubbing a fist against his swollen eyes. 

“Talking,” Yeosang said. It was terse, but not meant to be rude. The newcomer did not seem to take it negatively either as he crossed his arms over his chest with a sigh. “This is Seonghwa, his dad owns the big medical company. I already told you my name.”

The boy hums. “Yeah, Sangie, right?”

“It’s Yeosang, not–”

“Sangie,” the brunette smirks wildly. “And you can be Hwa.” He does not speak with any sense of formality. His tone is unreserved and his emotions even more so. Somehow, though, the thought of someone so different from them was endearing. 

Seonghwa smiles softly, hoping that the boy doesn’t bite, and asks, “What’s your name, then?” It immediately spurs a wide grin from the other. Yeosang grunts and leans against the tile white brick wall behind them. No one wonders where they are. They never do. The adults have never spent a single moment looking for them if there wasn’t a photo to be taken. Nothing to lose or gain. 

“Wooyoung,” the brunette says, “Jung Wooyoung. My parents own KQ Entertainment.” Seonghwa knows the name. He had heard his parents discuss the family hundreds of times. The Jung’s were part of the Caryophyllaceae line; viscaria. Beautiful little blooms with a simple invitation attached to their meaning– _ ”Will you dance with me?”  _ They were born for the stage and screen. To be in the public eye. And it was very far from what their son was doing; hiding beneath a table with two of the other most powerful sons in the country.

“So, we’ll call you Woo,” Yeosang mumbles. “Or Youngie. It’s really up to you.” The younger never usually approaches other people with any sense of care. Instead, he tends to throw up a wall the moment someone else is introduced into the picture. With Wooyoung, however, he is different. The brunette becomes a staple part of their life. A constant spirit that lingers around them; no matter how much changes. And truly, everything does within time. 

Wooyoung had been the one to introduce Choi Jongho into the friend group. Jongho was the son of a prominent military leader. As the heir to the Tropaeolaceae genetics, Jongho was gifted in battle strategies, aggression, and the whole mix of being a victorious warrior. It should have been a restricted line after the war ended, yet somehow, his family remained. 

Jongho had been on KQ’s reality program that was meant to follow government individuals in their daily lives. It would have been dry should the boy have not come out, very publicly, on live TV during a dinner of at least thirteen different families. People at first believed it to be a publicity stunt to draw in views. However, when news broke of Yeosang’s affair with the young heir, it became clear that the man was most certainly telling the truth. 

Seonghwa should have been angry. He should have found an ember of something within telling him to find wrath. Fury. Anything that wasn’t the numb static of despair. Nothing ever came. Jongho, like Wooyoung, was a brother to him. Yeosang knew that. They all knew that. 

Maybe that was why it made today more difficult. Shoveling a spoonful of whatever soup Wooyoung had brought him on his way to the company, he watches the screen of his cell flicker with his father’s name. Swallowing quickly, he fights the urge to groan as he answers the call; Wooyoung’s eyebrow raising slightly. 

“Hello?” 

“Hwa, are you in the office?” Director Park asks. “I need you to stop by my desk briefly. An important matter has come up.” Before Seonghwa can answer, the older man is already ending the call. With a scoff, Seonghwa slides his cell away from him and throws his head into his hands. 

Wooyoung takes a sip of his soda and settles his palm over Seonghwa’s shoulder. “That’s rough, buddy.” His touch leaves quickly as he leans back into his chair. “What’s he going to possibly say to you? It’s not like you leave your apartment.”

“I go out sometimes.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes and shovels another spoonful of soup into his mouth. “No, you really don’t. Not since…” He drifts off carefully, his eyes wide. The older smiles softly and stands from the table with precision. Today was not a day to be sad. It was not a day to be anything more than human. No one was perfect. He had trained himself to focus on that simple mantra. People make mistakes. Perfection, as a whole, was a concept that was impossible to achieve. Something about the thought, however, twists in his gut like the weight of a silver bullet. It feels wrong; the very concept he spent years living by. Seonghwa brushes the feeling off quickly. 

“I’ll be back.” With that, his feet carry him across the hall and into his father’s office; stopping only to knock on the heavy wooden door. As he reaches for the handle, however, someone else’s voice gives him a reason to hesitate. A man speaks to the director from just inside. The airy tone is familiar, but at the same time, so distant in his memory. It’s only when his father beckons him inside that he realizes exactly where the impression stems from.

In front of the desk, a mop of dark hair stands out against the pale interior of the space. Choi Jongho and his own father sit in the chairs that have been placed before Director Park. Both men turn to face Seonghwa as he pulls the office door closed behind him. Carefully, he bows before Jongho can shoot him that same pouty look he has seen a hundred times before. 

“Seonghwa, thank you for taking time out of your break for this,” his father greets, dark eyes icy. The man filters his personality like a tap on the turn of a dime. It does not surprise him to see this side of the director while faced with such an ancient force. Seonghwa hums and approaches the desk slowly. Despite the friendly face in the crowd, ease does not take him. Instead, his body is tense with every step closer. His father, noticing the way the secretary moves, pats the chair next to him. He must have pulled it there when the visitors arrived. “I’m sure you and Jongho have already had enough of an introduction. However, I would like to introduce you to General Choi.”

Across the thick mahogany surface, the general holds out an open palm. Reluctantly, Seonghwa offers him a firm handshake. Jongho’s eyes fall to the contact with what Seonghwa immediately recognizes as apprehension. Anxiety. What could he possibly have to be afraid of?

“Park Seonghwa, it is wonderful to finally meet you. Thank you for taking care of my son even after his unfortunate mistake,” General Choi says, his voice gruff with almost inhumane certainty. It’s an authoritative tone that rubs Seonghwa the wrong way. Full of self-imposed reasoning and little room to argue. Everything that the secretary has learned to despise over his years in the public eye. People that speak down to others dot the spectrum of politics freely. They control every aspect of life and force their own choices onto others. Within seconds, Seonghwa bristles. 

“It is an honor, sir,” Seonghwa grits out. “Your son is one of my dearest friends.” As the phrase hits the air, Director Park claps loudly. The sound makes Seonghwa jump. Turning quickly, he faces the man with a scandalized expression. There is not time to school his expression into something reserved as he takes in his father’s apparent glee. It’s a rare sight; the man grinning haplessly.

“I told you, General Choi, there would be little complaint on either end.” _ Complaint _ ? Seonghwa’s brows furrow almost painfully at the statement. Why would he possibly complain about being close to Jongho? The director notices his confusion, still beaming, and says, “Hwa, surely you have given up on Yeosang by now. Our families have been in talks over the last month about a possible alternative.” Within seconds, Seonghwa feels his heart rate escalate. It’s the feeling of bile toiling in his almost empty stomach. The cold sweat of broken promises; of unwanted truths. It’s the feeling of losing control once again. “Would you consider uniting our families with Jongho?” 

“No.” The word echoes from the nearly barren walls. From the wide windows, he can see for miles. Miles and miles of freedom and untethered access to his own whims and wishes. The reverberating sound is the missing melody. The final piece of the puzzle. So, he says it again. “No, I’m sorry, but I will not do that.” The melody does not even stutter as another sound is added to the mix. 

The sting of his father’s slap is enough to make tears well up in his eyes. “Don’t you value the company?” The man asks. His eyes are no longer cold. Instead, they burn with the ember of wrath that flickers deep in his soul. “It is only a formality that we are asking your opinion, Seonghwa.” He does not have to say it aloud for the meaning behind his words to ring clear.  _ You do not have a choice. _

For the second time in their lives, Jongho chases after him down the long winding hallways. This time, he’s yelling apologies, but laced with a hint of something different. It isn’t him showing up at the company to beg Seonghwa to forgive him for fucking his fiance. Instead, this is desperation to please their families. To excel at being the one thing they were supposed to be: perfect. Jongho believes in perfection. Seonghwa does not.

Within a wicked second, the older is whirling on the brunette. His voice is low, treading dangerously, as he backs the younger man into the wall. “Did you know?” He asks, pinning the other until there is nowhere for him to go. The man could easily dislodge him; he’s the son of war for God’s sake. Instead, Jongho just stares back at him with wide, watering eyes.

“Of course not.”

“You didn’t destroy everything that Yeosang and I had built,” he pushes further, “on purpose? You didn’t plan this bullshit to seat yourself in the throne of my family’s company?”

“Why would I ever do that, Hwa?” Jongho murmurs, his eyes snapping shut. “You know me. I would never do that to anyone,” his voice cracks under the weight of the world tossed so carelessly onto his shoulders. “Do you really think so little of me?”

Seonghwa cannot stop himself from gasping at the accusation. Did he? _ Of course not.  _ Yet, here he was; trapping the younger boy in a position that he could not bring himself to escape. Forcing him to reveal a deck of cards he never planned to spread before them. Seonghwa takes three steps backwards and presses a hand to his temple. 

“It was your father’s idea. He approached mine and asked if he would consider it.”

“Jongho, what good does our company have bonding with the military?” The question enters the airwaves carefully. It’s a tick. And then another. Suddenly, the morbid realization strikes him like a snake from water. “No,” he mumbles in disbelief. “The war is over. It’s been over for almost a hundred years.”

Jongho nods slowly. “That war is over, Seonghwa, but there is so much going on behind the scenes.” So much that will be thrust into their hands whether they agree to the contract or not. “I don’t know the details, but they’re planning a new weapon.”

“They’re playing God, Jongho,” he says, struggling to control his thoughts. “And we’re their chess pieces. Humanity is just a game to them.” He knew without them speaking it aloud. A company that specializes in biological advancements, particularly weaponizing DNA, would only have one reason to harmonize with the military. “We can’t let them.”

Jongho sighs, his gaze softening as it meets with Seonghwa’s own. “Do you really think we have a choice, Hwa? We’ve never had a choice.” Seonghwa opens his mouth to argue, but the other is already shaking his head. “When have you ever had a  _ choice,  _ Seonghwa? The moment you tried to do something as simple as bleach your hair, your father hired every stylist in the country to fix it.” 

It was true. It had been a stupid late night idea that Wooyoung thought up; taking control of their lives. Seonghwa agreed easily, the chance of finally rebelling after twenty years had been the peachy nectar of forbidden fruit. However, the second he stepped into the office with platinum hair, his father confined him in the lunchroom until thirteen stylists of varying degrees cleared their schedules. By the time they were done, his hair was identical to what it had been before. Even its texture had been restored with what was probably hundreds of dollars worth of Olaplex and Malibu conditioner. It was a frozen bank account and a lecture on etiquette. Purity. Perfection.

_ Jongho was right _ . But that did not stop Seonghwa from thinking about the red-head from that morning. His painted body and beautiful smile. His freedom. Seonghwa wanted so badly to be free. Free from the concept of pristine purity and a crackless mirror. Free from the chains that bound him to the ivory pedestal his parents threw him on. Free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loves! This chapter is probably pretty confusing and very short. I promise it will make sense soon, but as the tags state, this is a sci-fi fic. I have never written something this deep in the genre, so bear with me while I try to find the right words to tell the story I am aiming for. 
> 
> This is the last chapter I had completed before my eye injury, so updates may be weekly instead of every two or three days. Please forgive me for that!
> 
> Follow me on Twitter ( @KyojinOuji ) for inside looks at chapters, memes, and just my daily gremlin activities. I always follow back and love new friends.
> 
> Cheers!


	4. Soulmates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Not proof-read or Beta-read so there are bound to be mistakes.  
> (Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ❀

[ _ “I said, ‘Do you ever get lonely?’ _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)

[ _ He said, “Do you?” _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)

[ _ I said, “It’s growing on me. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)

[ _ I'm pretty used to it by now.’ _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)

[ _ Nothing ever changes. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)

[ _ I'm still stood under a spot light _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)

[ _ With a mic and secret I don't need to tell. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)

[ _ I prefer to talk to strangers. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)

[ _ You know I'd choose you if I knew how.” _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)

[ **_Soulmates_ ** _ \- The Desert _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)

It started out as subtle static in the mornings. Moments where his thoughts lapsed into a world of fissuring emotions and a blonde haired silhouette making the bed— where the sheets are a light blue. The figure never had a face. It was just an overpowering sense of distrust and sorrow where it felt there should have been comfortable love. If he could place the room or the individual, maybe it would be easier to uncover the apparent memory. However, the only other detail was that occasional flash of pressed and framed forget-me-nots on the wall above the bed.

_ ‘It doesn’t go there. It was above the front door, you know.’  _ The thought earns him a soft giggle from the figure. The sound of sea glass and rainy mornings. Of home and chamomile tea. A distant memory just out of reach.

_ ‘I moved it. I think it looks fine.’  _ The response is quiet. So gentle that he has to strain just to hear it. He wakes up in his own bed— his tan sheets and bare walls— and cannot place the laughter. 

The dreams begin to spur what feels like a southern downpour. Moments where San tells him a story that happened months prior and Seonghwa has no idea what he is describing. Sometimes, it’s Wooyoung, referencing high school and old friends. Names and faces that are non-existent in the recesses of the eldest’s mind. It’s as though someone has dumped white-out on the newspaper of his life and done a shabby job of mending the mess.

Seonghwa does not realize the damage until there are five men gathered around the coffee table in the center of his living room. Jongho, the ever present voice of reason lately, had convinced him to invite the group for movies, cheap alcohol, and round after round of those annoying card games. A boys night, he had called it. It’s only after dinner, when they’re just tipsy enough to be warm and comfortable, when Jongho lets a fatal statement slip.

“The five of us haven’t spent much time together since Yeosang left,” he says carelessly, plucking at the shag rug in front of the door. “I miss it.” The mention of Yeosang makes Seonghwa’s heart flip uncomfortably. Once. Then, twice.

“Did we spend a lot of time together before that?” Seonghwa asks, phone heavy in his hand. “Before he left, I mean.” His tone clips at the end, as though unable to keep up with his mouth, and San raises an eyebrow. The blonde leans back into Wooyoung’s chest with a frown.

“Every friday, hyung. We always were here,” he says softly. “Did you forget?”

Seonghwa feels his brows furrow. He can vaguely recall the nights the seven of them had in this apartment. Drinking heavily and laughing loudly well into the early morning. The neighbors called the cops often, but to no avail. They were young adults and they were so very alive. And someone sat on the edges with them. 

A smile full of far too many teeth and bright, amber eyes. Sharp features and brilliant, witty comments that sent the group into wild, cacophonous laughter. A natural-born leader with a lust for life. He remembers the man in a way that is akin to finally coming home. However, the feeling is overpowered by a sudden chill; as though the door was left ajar as one returned from their long journey. It’s as though Yunho senses the change in Seonghwa’s expression, but before he can steer the conversation, Mingi is already steamrolling through.

“What about Hongjoong?” The name is a punch to the oldest’s temple. “After Director Park fired him, where did he end up?” His father had fired one of their friends? Of course, he had done the same to San, but the younger was still evidently present in the group. Where had Hongjoong gone?

“Who?”

Yunho’s eyebrows skyrocket into his hairline. With a bizarre cross between a laugh and a gasp, he utters, “Hyung, you can’t be serious.” When Seonghwa does not respond, the man scoffs. “Kim Hongjoong, Hwa. You guys were best friends in college and stayed friends after graduation,” Yunho says, his expression full of unfiltered shock and near desperation. “He’s super into music and fashion, but you got him a job with your dad’s company for like a year before he got canned.”

Seonghwa feels his heart plummet. “Why was he fired?” His eyes fall onto Jongho, whose teeth work tirelessly on the skin of his bottom lip. The youngest is tense and full of anxiety. The reaction, however, only spurs the secretary into further confusion. “Why was Hongjoong fired?” He repeats, eyes narrowing until finally Wooyoung groans.

“He turned the photos of Yeosang and Jongho over to the tabloids,” the blonde says, his hands pressing against his eyes. “Hongjoong stayed the night here, in your room, and Yeosang didn’t know because he slept on the couch. Joong woke up and caught the two of them. Instead of being a good friend, he fucking blackmailed them until he didn’t get what he wanted and then betrayed everyone.” 

The room falls silent for what feels like eons before Jongho finally whispers, “How did you forget, hyung?” Seonghwa shakes his head, body trembling, as the youngest stares at him with watery eyes. “You’re the one who told your father to fire Hongjoong.”

“Why would I do that?”

No one has an answer. Instead, San’s mouth falls open slowly. “Seonghwa, what the hell is wrong with you? Do we need to take you to the hospital?” He’s already scrambling for his keys and Seonghwa belts out a quick, ‘no.’ It commands the group’s attention like the crack of a whip. He struggles to organize his thoughts. What does one say after apparently ruining someone’s life? Quietly, he settles on the truth. 

“I have no idea what is going on. I feel like I’m living in two dimensions,” he laughs against his own will. The sound comes out bitter. Betrayed. “I keep having these stupid dreams of a blonde figure making my bed. There’s something about forget-me-nots.” He drops his head into his hands. “It’s stupid. All of this is so ridiculous. It’s like someone knocked out chunks of my life and gave me this  _ bullshit _ instead.” 

The group does not respond. Instead, they spend minutes processing what the older man has revealed. Finally, Yunho’s hand finds his knee carefully and pulls him back into reality with a tender smile. He cocks his head to the side slightly.

“Hey, hyung, I need you to look at me,” he murmurs. Seonghwa pulls his face from his palms with a sigh. “I’m going to be honest, I don’t think any of us can tell you what that means. However, I can promise you something,” he says, squeezing Seonghwa’s knee. “We’ll be here every step of the way until we can figure it out. Together.”

Mingi peeps up from behind him. “It’s kind of funny though, Hongjoong’s favorite flower was a forget-me-not. Like, he was obsessed with them. I think he even has a blue one tattooed on his wrist.” The image makes Seonghwa’s brow raise slightly as San claps.

“No, he definitely does! There was a weird saying written in English, too. Something about time?” The concept makes Seonghwa suck in a sharp breath. It’s like deja vu. Painful and disorienting. However, he knows exactly what the other man had written there.

“Time is a finicky thing,” he mumbles, Yunho perking up with the words. 

“Yeah! Time is a finicky thing,” he grins and claps the older on the shoulder. “See, I knew there was no way you could forget Hongjoong.” He had forgotten Hongjoong, though. Unbelievably, the memory had been shoved deep within an iron cage in his mind and locked far away.

Wooyoung hums from his spot on the floor. Without speaking, he turns his phone until the group can see the smiling face of a strawberry-haired man grinning back at them. “He dyed his hair recently. Remember that blonde look he had for ages?”

‘ _ I asked if you were alright. Also, what you were staring at.’ _

_ ‘Your roots. You could use a touch-up.’ _

“He was horrible about touching up his roots,” Seonghwa says. He thinks of a pricey, marble sink splattered with blue bleach. The smell of 30 volume developer. The ruined t-shirts that hung in their apartment closet. He thinks of Kim Hongjoong. One who would never dye his hair bright red without a reason. Who would not tattoo his body until he had a secure job. And he did. He worked for KQ Entertainment and had just finished his first showcase and—

“Hyung?” Wooyoung asks. Seonghwa pulls himself from his thoughts abruptly; shattering whatever memory pond he was submerging himself in like a modern Ophelia. “I said Hongjoong works at that bookstore on the corner if you want to go visit sometime. Or avoid it entirely.” That was wrong. There was no bookstore on the corner. He frowns at Wooyoung until the other man rolls his eyes. “What?”

“That bakery with the honey bread Yeosang used to like is on the corner, not a bookstore,” he says. Wooyoung squints at him for a second before shaking his head.

“No, it’s definitely a bookstore.  _ Timeless Treasures _ or something along those lines _.  _ To be fair, though, Sangie liked that shop too.” He crosses his arms over his chest with a concerned huff. “Are you certain you’re alright?”

Seonghwa makes a quiet noise, a cross between a hum and a sigh, and nods. “I’m fine. I promise. I’m probably just tired really.” The excuse does not seem to have the effect he wanted on the other man. Instead of letting the conversation drop, Wooyoung pouts. 

“Don’t lie to us, hyung,” he tilts his head to the side, laying on the wounded puppy appeal. “We’re your friends.”

“I know that, Youngie,” Seonghwa says, the patter of his heart stumbling along the slick pavement. He couldn’t hurt them. Drawing them further into this mess would only do just that. It was hard enough keeping the secret of his and Jongho’s engagement plans under the rug. Even more so when the union’s reason became clear to the two of them. However, it was something he couldn’t speak into existence. His other friends did not need the added stress. “I really just haven’t been sleeping much.”

“Is it because of Yeosang?” Mingi asks quietly. It’s no more than a breath, but even as the whisper hits the air, Seonghwa watches the way Jongho draws in on himself. He watches the smallest gasp leave the man’s mouth. He watches the way he goes from being an intimidating presence to a hummingbird in a storm. And immediately, Seonghwa dives past the wind gusts to pull him to safety. 

Seonghwa shakes his head, shooting the youngest a sympathetic look. “No,” he says, “it’s not because of Yeosang. That dream is just unnerving.” He hopes that the expression comes across as gentle. In reality, it could go any of a hundred ways. Instead, Mingi just nods and sips at his drink slowly. San, however, seems to understand within seconds. With a boisterous clap, he glares daggers at the red-head. 

“Let’s stop talking about Yeosang. He’s an asshole,” San exclaims, climbing into Wooyoung’s lap. “Can we  _ please _ play cards? I’ve been really wanting to kick someone’s ass at Trash.” His gaze locks onto Yunho. The tallest stares back dumbly, his puppy-like eyes wide with innocence, before he coughs out an offended laugh. 

“You suck at Trash,” the brunette says, a smirk crossing his lips. San rolls his eyes in response. “Choi San, never once in your life have you won a single round. What makes you think you can now?” 

“The alcohol. Hand me the cards, beagle-boy.”

It’s a week later when his father and General Choi break the news of the engagement. Within seven days, Seonghwa is locked back into the director’s intense game of chess. His father has always been the king. Once upon a time, he believed himself to be a knight at the very least. Recently, though, it is obvious he is nothing more than a pawn. 

Their friends take it well. Aside from the loud screech that erupts from Wooyoung over the phone the moment the scoop hits the public, there is not much more of an eruption. Some part of Seonghwa wonders how news travels in America. How long it will take until Yeosang knows. Whether or not he cares. Seonghwa realizes with a soft smack to his chest that he wants to know. To hear Yeosang’s voice, to listen to his advice, to know if he’s still alive. Of course, he has to be. But is it truly living if one never actually wishes to breathe? 

Maybe, that is why he finds himself on the street corner of despair and euphoria. For a second, the image of a homey bakery and cafe combo mirages before him. He sees himself and the blonde– Hongjoong– sitting at a small table. Sipping drinks and laughing in the golden hour of sunset. And then it’s gone. Replaced with a bookshop in the same location.

He had not expected the storefront to be open at 9pm. The neon glow of the shop’s orange and blue sign like a summer sunset until it flickers to a vibrant green and yellow. In the stained glass window, he watches his face color with all the beauty of an aurora in the northern night sky. Above him, it shines like a forbidden beacon.  _ Timeless Treasures.  _

As the door opens inward, a bell chimes above him. The sound startles him, drawing his attention upwards. It’s then that his gaze lands on the acrylic-pressed frame of vibrant blue forget-me-nots hung just above the entrance. He feels it then. The shooting pain of a bullet. The crimson bloom of a bloody wound. The pull of enchantment. The aftermath of love. It’s the bright voice that calls from the back room, “Welcome to Timeless Treasures,” and the red-head from the crosswalk that wanders into view. It’s a smile with far too many teeth and the cat-like tilt of his eyes. It’s the slightly grown out roots. It’s everything all at once.

“You really should keep up with your roots, Joongie,” Seonghwa takes two steps forward. The other man stares at him silently. As he processes the statement, his mouth pops open into a small, pouty, ‘o’. Another step towards the counter. “Time is a finicky thing, I know, but you have to notice that they’re growing out a bit.” Hongjoong drops the stack of books he’s carrying onto the wooden surface.

“Do you…” his voice carries off quietly, whispering into the night. “Oh my god,” he squeaks with a crack, rounding the counter’s edge quickly. “Do you remember me?” 

“You said you would find me,” Seonghwa says, holding out a hand with careful grace. It’s as though Hongjoong might disappear with a single touch. “You did, but you didn’t say anything. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Hongjoong’s eyes begin to water. His golden cheeks tint with a subtle flush as he takes a step towards the older. “I wanted to. God, Hwa, I wanted to.” Another step. “But it took awhile for my memories to come back. The day we met, I only knew bits and pieces.” And another. “How much do you remember?” 

Seonghwa can barely speak. Instead, he holds out his open arms with a broken sigh. “Everything,” he whispers. “I remember everything, Joong.” He does not hesitate to wrap the red-head against his chest with a featherlight kiss to his temple. “I don’t understand what happened, though. How did we end up here?”

Hongjoong tenses. His fingers drum carefully against Seonghwa’s spine. A melody he has not played in months. However, it’s in that moment that Seonghwa instantly picks up on the subtle habit. A nervous tick that the younger never had control of; the same thing he would do just before telling Seonghwa that he ate the last piece of cake. Or that he had not actually done the dishes as he promised. It was the habit that Hongjoong could never kick; the same he did whenever he found himself caught in a lie. 

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa does not mean for his voice to come out stern. However, the moment it does, Honjoong pulls away from him. Within two paces, he’s back behind the counter again. “What did you do?” The man fidgets with the various rings adorning his fingers. Round and round he twists them until finally meeting Seonghwa’s gaze.

“Flip the sign on the door for me?” He asks gently. Within seconds, the older does as he asks before leaning against one of the nearby novel stands. It happens to be a display on the newest fantasy series,  _ Who Will Breathe The Earth We Lost?, _ and Seonghwa considers picking it up eventually simply due to the cover. The illustration is of two elven-creatures, one with curling black horns and piercing eyes. The other with cherry-red hair and a slim lion’s tail. The two look enough like him and Hongjoong that the observation almost makes him laugh out loud, despite the situation at hand. 

As he gazes at the other expectantly, he watches the other draw a hand through his red strands. With every movement, Seonghwa wonders what it would be like if the vivid tattoos illustrating his arms could come to life and dance before them. He wonders what it would be like to run his fingers along their delicate lines and abstract shapes. His daydreaming gives the younger a chance to collect his thoughts as he sighs into the situation. 

“Come upstairs? I feel like you’re going to want to sit down.”

“That’s never a good sign, Joong,” he mumbles, trailing after Hongjoong’s retreating form. Carefully, they climb the stairs to the upper apartment. “Do you live up here? Just above the shop.” 

The younger hums quietly as he slides his key into the lock. It clicks open as he presses a shoulder to the dark wood. As the door swings open, Seonghwa is bathed in golden light. From every which way, Hongjoong has hung hundreds of light strings. It is peaceful. Like walking among a field of glowing fireflies on a summer night. With a soft huff, the red-head shuffles inside and slips off his shoes. Seonghwa follows suit; bathing in the details of the man’s home. 

Pressed flowers are framed all over the walls. Photographs of various sunsets hang from the string lights that dangle over the large picture windows. From the ceramic pots in the corner, dozens of live plants blossom and wave. It’s as though they have entered an entirely different atmosphere. Without a second thought, Seonghwa gasps. The sound draws Hongjoong’s attention. 

“Are you alright?” 

He nods frantically, gesturing at the living room around them. “You’ve made your own Garden of Eden. It’s beautiful.” The red-head flushes again and mumbles something in response, gesturing at the couch. Seonghwa chuckles and takes the final few steps into the space. Gracelessly, he tumbles onto the cushions next to Hongjoong. 

“I didn’t really decorate this place myself.” Seonghwa raises an eyebrow at the statement, but Hongjoong presses on. “Seonghwa, I lied to you.” The confession comes as both a shock and a commonality. He had already expected something of the sort, however, the sheer idea that Hongjoong was admitting it made his heart pound uncomfortably. “My ability is not mending things. I’ve never been particularly talented at that.”

Seonghwa stops breathing for a second. It is not an icy chill that runs down his spine. Instead, his mind seems to fly into the most humid place it can conjure. “What do you mean? I’ve watched you repair–” 

“That’s because I’m not using my ability to rebuild anything. I’m adjusting the reality that everyone around me perceives.” The statement hangs in the air between them. When Seonghwa does not speak, Hongjoong does it for him, “My family was actually from the Pinaceae line, Hwa. Our spellcasting is pretty much kept under wraps, because if the wrong person gets ahold of it, the fabric of reality could be at risk.” Seonghwa had heard of Pinaceae before, but only briefly. No one truly knew the origin of the dynasty. They were ancient, supposedly predating even genetic studies and seemingly vanished following the war. 

“Why not just tell me that, Hongjoong?” Seonghwa asks, tone heavy. Thoughts racing, he cocks his head slightly. “You know I would have kept it a secret I–” his voice cracks painfully, shoulders slumping under the effort of keeping his morale up. “Joong, I love you. Why not just tell me the truth before?” 

“I have, Hwa,” he breathes, warm palm cupping Seonghwa’s cheek. “I’ve told you more times than I can count. You never remember. This,” Hongjoong motions around them as thought the answer is glaring them in the eye, “is the first universe I’ve mended just enough. You didn’t forget everything permanently.”

“What are you talking about?”

Hongjoong frowns, as though his thoughts were too far ahead for him to truly explain them all. Seonghwa had grown used to it over the time they spent together. But now, in the familiarity of things falling into crystal-clear waters, it's truly like watching the gears turn in the other’s mind. He backtracks one step. And then another. As many as he needs to until he feels like he is standing in the same place as Seonghwa. 

Quietly, he explains, “Pinaceae control time, that much is true, but our true ability is something more.” He pauses, running his thumb along the highpoint of Seonghwa’s cheekbone. “When there’s a threat to humanity, we have one goal: prevent it. In order to do that, we’re allowed to reset the littlest details that we possibly can. Alter the timeline,” he breathes. “We create alternate realities to test our theories.”

It’s as though everything shifts to the side with a lurching pull. “You reset the timelines of the universe? How?” The room spins as though it's nothing more than a figure skater on thin ice. Teetering, but confident of its existence. 

“By finding an anchor and working off of it.” His warm eyes meet Seonghwa’s. The corners crinkle as he smiles. “You’re my anchor, Hwa. You’ve always been.” It’s when he sighs that Seonghwa knows there is more. And immediately, Hongjoong continues with effortless grace. Strength, Seonghwa realizes. “Whatever the threat is, however, knows that I picked you. It’s been trying to eliminate you in every timeline so far.”

It makes sense. The missing memories. The forget-me-nots on his pillow and in his pockets. Yeosang never left them for him. Hongjoong was begging him from a distance to remember everything they had been through. All of the bittersweet sadness and honey-laden romance. The art of being two souls painted onto a pigmented canvas of oranges and blues. Sunrises and moonlight. A soft, ‘I’m sorry’ falls out of his mouth just as the tears begin to spill down his cheeks. 

“Love, don’t apologize. We’re here now. This time, I did something right.” Hongjoong smiles warmly. It’s sunlight on a winter’s day. “I’m the one who needs to apologize. I keep  _ fucking _ up,” his voice wavers as he mumbles, “I just want everything to be perfect.” Seonghwa leans forward just enough to press a tender kiss to the corner of Hongjoong’s brow. 

“I’m here now,” he says against the skin. “And I’ll be here again. And again. Until you get it right and even beyond that.”

Hongjoong laughs wetly, his own tears dripping against Seonghwa’s neck as he presses his face into the crook. “You better be,” he whispers, “I’ve been so lonely.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Hongjoong shakes his head, pulling Seonghwa closer yet. “You didn’t forget me,” he says as Seonghwa absentmindedly runs a finger along the blue ink of Hongjoong’s floral tattoos. Forget-me-nots. “Even if you did, time is a finicky thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Hello, loves! This is bound to be a pretty confusing chapter, so I'm sorry for that! But here was the big twist I've been trying to allude to. I hope it got across alright. (If you feel lost, feel free to message me on Twitter or Insta.) 
> 
> Find me on Twitter or Insta: @KyojinOuji  
> I always follow back and love new friends.
> 
> Cheers! ❀


	5. Sign of the Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Cheating (consistent theme), Mentions of Death/Violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Not proof-read or Beta-read so there are bound to be mistakes.  
> (Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ❀

> [ _ “Just stop your crying. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)
> 
> [ _ Have the time of your life. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)
> 
> [ _ Breaking through the atmosphere. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)
> 
> [ _ And things are pretty good from here. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)
> 
> [ _ Remember everything will be alright. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)
> 
> [ _ We can meet again somewhere. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)
> 
> [ _ Somewhere far away from here. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)
> 
> [ _ We never learn; we've been here before. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)
> 
> [ _ Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets?” _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)
> 
> [ **_Sign of the Times_ ** _ \- Kim Woo Sung and Lee Chan Sol _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=-USzSaXyQba0CfciWVZW3w)
> 
> * * *

When it comes to walking three steps over the edge of a cliff and turning back to face the way he came only seconds too late, Seonghwa is a pro. It becomes obvious after he wakes up in Hongjoong’s bed, wrapped in his arms, and held against the warmth of his bare chest. The morning light casts over their skin like a sheet pulled fresh from the dryer. It radiates comfort. Love. Home. 

The red-head’s eyes are still tightly shut. A gentle expression flits across his face as Seonghwa caresses the soft flesh of his inner arm tenderly. With a sigh, the man blinks at him lazily, a brilliant smile settling onto his lips. Quietly, he whispers, “Good morning.” Seonghwa, in turn, can only chuckle. It’s a deep sound, one that rumbles within his chest, and Hongjoong huffs, “What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing,” Seonghwa says, lips quirking upwards. “You’re just pretty.” As the younger fights to complain, Seonghwa’s gaze lands on the bed-side clock. In an instant, he shoots from Hongjoong’s arms. “Shit,” he mumbles, jumping from the bed and gathering pieces of clothing from the floor. “I have work in twenty minutes.”

“Shit!” Hongjoong exclaims, pulling the blankets off of his own frame. “Why did you stay so long if you knew you had to go in?” As the question hits the air, they both know how hilarious it actually is. Why would he not stay as long as possible? Seonghwa pauses as he pulls his black t-shirt over his head. 

“To be fair, you were quite compelling,” he tosses a smirk in the other man’s direction as the other lights up like a pink-flame. “Do you have a cardigan or something I can toss over this? My dad doesn’t do casual fridays.” With a soft laugh, Hongjoong wriggles off the bed and pads to the closet. Seonghwa swears that he does not stare at his lover’s naked form. For long. Instead, he gladly accepts the long, white button up that the other holds out with a raised brow. “Isn’t this still pretty casual?”

“You used to wear something like it in a different timeline,” Hongjoong says, pulling a pair of sweatpants off the floor and over this hips. “That and some stupid black t-shirt that said, ‘crush on you’. It was a cute look, really.” He flashes an award-winning smile before mumbling, “Also, I don’t think anything can look casual on you.” Before Seonghwa can protest, Hongjoong is ushering him towards the bathroom and complaining that he stinks. “Get a shower.”

“I don’t have time for that.” 

“Then, at least brush your hair and use my cologne. Seriously, Hwa, you smell like sweat and sex.” The door is closed before Seonghwa has a second to process the familiar nickname. With only three letters, he’s sent back to a life of music and dancing. A Garden of Eden and friendships that apparently can last through the ages. Aside from Yeosang, whose glaring lack of presence was painful. As he splashes warm water over his skin, the heat seeps into the flesh slowly. It works at his nerves, biting away the aching paranoia that tries so desperately to settle within his mind. Even as Hongjoong runs his knuckles along the wooden doorframe, startling him out of his thoughts, the anxiety melts away slowly. 

He dries his face carefully with a nearby towel and calls out, “One minute!” before spritzing the black and blue bottle of whatever cologne the red-head left out into the air. A quick pass through embraces him tenderly in a cloak of his lover’s scent. With a soft smile, he opens the bathroom door and faces the other. To Seonghwa’s disappointment, Hongjoong at some point had pulled on a hoodie.

“You’re going to be late,” he laughs as the older nuzzles into his neck. “Seriously, babe, you have to go. We’ll talk about everything later.” Seonghwa grumbles in disappointment at the utterly reasonable statement. Of course, he was right. However, Hongjoong’s smile filled the empty space in his heart. The time that they had been alone in this universe was lost. He knew that much. Yet, he would do nearly anything to make it back. To breathe the same mornings as Hongjoong without the thought of a bullet lodged in his stomach or a tabloid article gone wrong. Without a fiance. With a shudder, Jongho’s image pops into his mind. 

“You’re right,” he presses a kiss to the smaller’s temple carefully. He needed to tell Jongho. Hell, they needed to tell all of their friends. This could not be a secret again. As they walk to the door, Seonghwa gingerly wraps his fingers around Hongjoong’s dainty ones. For once, they are barren of the metal rings he wore in every memory. “You know don’t you?”

“About what?” 

“Jongho. The agreement my father has with General Choi,” Seonghwa says slowly, his eyes not lifting from his shoes. “It’s just like last time.” The statement immediately makes Hongjoong shake his head with frantic urgency. 

“Nothing, and I mean nothing,” Hongjoong says, “will be like last time.” He squeezes Seonghwa’s hand tightly. Once. Then twice. “We’ll talk about it when you get home, but Hwa, it will never come to that point again.” Seonghwa opens the door and throws a sidelong glance toward the red head who smiles wistfully. “Are you worried about Jongho?”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Seonghwa asks, pain lacing his voice. “Yeosang left both of us.”

“And if he didn’t?” The question is subtle, but filled with the shattering cacophony of a thousand bombs. Seonghwa stumbles slightly as Hongjoong begins to close the door. “I’ve never stopped loving you, you know. When you asked me how many times I fell in love? They were both you.”

“You’ve only loved me in two universes?”

“No, silly. There was a run where you did something I had an impossible time forgiving. It took a bit to learn to love again, but…” His eyes find Seonghwa’s; filled with the brilliance of every burning sun. “It was the second time falling for you that really sealed the deal. Now, go,” he says with a laugh that only grows muffled when the door clicks into place. Against the wood, Seonghwa presses his lips.

“I love you too, Joong.”

The response is soft, lost to the barrier between them. However, it holds the same weight that it would if they were in the same room. “I know.”

As per usual, Wooyoung bounds into the office near lunchtime. A bag of assorted snacks in tow, the younger comes into the room like a bat out of hell. It’s difficult, for just a moment, to pull oneself back into the timeline that they are part of. With the memory of Wooyoung– the other Wooyoung– still fresh in his mind, it’s like watching a drama, but knowing the actors personally. This Wooyoung lacks the reserve of the one from the past. The delicacy that the other had to dance around a topic without even stumbling against the jagged rhythms of life. This one, instead, throws the tote onto the table with a dramatic sigh and lunges across his desk to wrap his long fingers around Seonghwa’s plastic cup of iced tea. 

“What does he fuck like?” Wooyoung asks as his lips settle over the opening of the drink. For a moment, Seonghwa’s mind races for answers regarding how, exactly, this man found out about Hongjoong within 24 hours. The younger takes a deep swig before slamming the tea back down with a content sigh. “Jongho, I mean. You’ve had sex already, right?”

With a gasp, Seonghwa nearly screeches, “No!” It’s seconds before his palms slap over his mouth like fleshy barricades against the brutalities of the universe.  _ Shit _ . Wooyoung, however, only narrows his eyes. Leaning forward, his hands fold over each other, and he rests his head just on top of them, gaze locking onto Seonghwa.

“Why are you blushing like a virgin?” Wooyoung asks, moving closer. “I know first hand that you’re not one. Since when did sex-talk make you uncomfortable? I told you all about the time San and I found a homemade lube recipe–”

“God, stop, Woo,” Seonghwa grumbles, pulling the bag of snacks closer. “You couldn’t have brought actual food?” Wooyoung pouts and rolls his eyes. 

Sighing, Seonghwa withdraws a bag of cheese puffs and leans back in his seat. “I tried to text you and ask what you wanted from the street vendor downstairs. You didn’t respond,” the younger complains, shuffling through the snacks until he settles on a simple bag of shrimp chips. Seonghwa glances at his cellphone, which lights up almost perfectly on time, and showcases at least ten messages from Wooyoung. However, it also reveals his texts to Hongjoong, who has just sent yet another heart emoji with no message. Before Seonghwa can grab it, Wooyoung already is reaching for the small device. 

“Hongjoong? _ You’re texting Hongjoong? _ ” 

“It’s not–”

“He’s sending you heart emojis!  _ Oh my god, _ ” Wooyoung pauses, his eyes falling between Seonghwa and the messages. “Oh my god. Are you with Hongjoong?”

Seonghwa scrambles for the phone just as another text rolls in. Wooyoung, the bastard, knows his passcode. Within seconds, the entire conversation is available for his viewing pleasure. It had surprised Seonghwa when he discovered that this universe’s Seonghwa and Hongjoong had hundreds of past messages. Even more so, when he saw that the two exchanged very explicit images of themselves clad in lace and silk. Wooyoung, on the other hand, seems beyond surprised. He seems devastated. 

“You were cheating on Yeosang,” he whispers, eyes barely meeting Seonghwa’s. “You were cheating on each other. This whole  _ fucking _ time.” His voice cracks painfully. For the first time, in any universe, Seonghwa watches the way Wooyoung’s expression filters between shock, betrayal, anger, and then finally, sadness. “Did you ever love him?”

“Of course I loved him!”

“I don’t mean in that weird, motherly way that you always do! I mean, did you actually love him?” Wooyoung’s words hold quiet venom. It does not seep far from the fangs that pierce into Seonghwa’s heart. It settles, pools, in his chest. Aching, but not spreading. A silent killer. “Did you know?”

“Know if I loved him?” Seonghwa murmurs, afraid to break the seal that settles over his emotions. 

Wooyoung shakes his head slowly. Carefully. When his eyes finally lock onto Seonghwa’s, they are brimming with unshed tears. “No, Hwa,” he says, “that I loved him. And that I loved you.” it’s nothing more than a breath; hardly enough to rustle the leaves of the tiniest trees. But, it is enough to create a storm within Seonghwa’s soul. 

“How long?” He asks, watching the way Wooyoung struggles to fight back his tears. “How long were you in love with us, Woo?” He tries to lean forward, to embrace Wooyoung, but the boy pushes his chair back abruptly. As the dark wood clatters against the office floor with a deafening crash, the younger swallows. 

“Since the moment I knew what it meant to love,” he whispers. It’s a quick motion, because he is suddenly gathering the majority of his things from where they landed around the room. “When the kids at school said I was a selfish bastard for turning down every girl. When I watched you two go on dates in the park and when Yeosang called me to ask how to have sex with a man. When you asked me what kind of engagement gemstone Yeosang would like most in his engagement ring, because even though your parents were making you do this, you still wanted things to be okay.” He slips on his jacket. “When this selfish asshole could only watch the way you crumbled after Yeosang left and had the audacity to think, ‘Maybe, I have a chance.’”

He sighs as he starts towards the door. “That’s how long I loved you, Seonghwa,” he says with a careful smile. “It’s alright though. I’ve been over you for a few months.” He glances towards his hand that reaches out for the handle. “San is everything I could have ever asked for and more. He was always there, to listen and support me, when I could not talk to my two best friends. San is the answer to the lie I made myself live for so long, you know, hyung?” 

Before Wooyoung can leave, however, Seonghwa is hit with that feeling of rising desperation. Like the water in the cabin of his ship is rising slowly and the ceiling is threatening to weigh down upon him. With a yell, Seonghwa begs Wooyoung to stop. To close the door and come sit back down. When the man turns to him, eyes wide, Seonghwa bursts into an ugly sob. It’s only seconds before Wooyoung– the Wooyoung of this world; the one he refused to accept as his– is pulling him into a tight embrace. This is not the Wooyoung he came to know. This is not the man who crushed on San the secretary. This is not the Wooyoung who did everything in his power to get Hongjoong his dream job. This is the Wooyoung who grew up with Seonghwa and Yeosang. This is the Wooyoung who watched everything change around him and felt desperate to stop it, but did nothing. This was the most selfless creature he had ever seen. 

_ He deserved the truth. _

“Youngie?” Seonghwa asks once the tears slow their roll. Wooyoung hums softly, the sound rumbling deep within his chest and vibrating beneath Seongwha’s head. “Can I ask you something?”

“You’re not going to ask me what kinks I’m into, are you?” Wooyoung laughs as Seonghwa slaps at his thigh. “You can ask me whatever you want, you big baby. Just make it quick; your break is almost over.” 

Seonghwa takes a deep breath. “Do you have memories that you can’t explain?” As the question enters the airstream, Wooyoung stops rubbing small circles into the base of Seonghwa’s scalp. “Like you know you’ve never experienced them, but they’re so real.”

Wooyoung freezes. “What is this about, Hwa?” He pulls back until they are eye to eye. “Is this related to those dreams you were having?”

“Answer me, please,” Seonghwa whispers. Everything depends on the response. If he said no, then he would let it drop. He would tell Hongjoong that they had to find a way to leave Wooyoung out of it. To protect him from the harshness of whatever simulation they were dealing with over and over. Instead, Wooyoung finally speaks with elegance. 

“I do. I wake up every morning and San is in my bed instead of his own apartment. We dance around the kitchen to music I’ve never heard, but I can tell you every lyric. I can remember every beat.” Wooyoung pushes the heels of his palms against his eyes with a whine. “There’s choreo that I’ve never seen, but I could do it in my sleep. For God’s sake, I can tell you what portions gave my dancers the hardest time. 

But, Hwa, then I come back and I’m standing in my studio apartment– alone– dancing to a silent song. There’s never any music. San is almost always at his own place in the mornings because of Byeol. And of course, there’s no choreo,” he finishes, slumping against the desk. “Now, please, tell me why you’re asking, Hwa.”

So, Seonghwa does. He tells Wooyoung everything he can remember and everything Hongjoong has told him. He knows better than to spill every last one of Hongjoong’s secrets. However, something deep within begs him to. And as he does, he feels like he can never stop. Even as his break runs far over. Even as his father stops by to jokingly tell them to, ‘spend less time gossiping’. Even as Wooyoung packs up his things for the second time and leaves the office with a dazed look. 

“Text me when you get home!” Seonghwa calls, but the other man only nods before stumbling down the hall. It's a quick message shot to San, asking him to be on the lookout for his boyfriend, and the throbbing beginning to an intense headache. It’s a mistake without being a real mistake. It’s the abhorrent ignition of a downward spiral away from his past self’s obsession with perfection. It’s the call to Hongjoong as he bounds down the stairs of the company after work. 

“ _ Hello _ ?” The younger’s voice is soft. “ _ Are you alright, Hwa? _ ” 

“I need to talk to you. Are you at the shop?” Seonghwa cannot prevent his voice from dipping into the pool of panic that rests in his chest. Hongjoong coughs into the phone, almost immediately answering Seonghwa’s question. 

“ _ I closed early. I caught a bug, I think.”  _

“Can I stop by?” Seonghwa pauses. “Unless you want to rest. I can leave you alone for today if–”

Hongjoong laughs softly. It’s a beautiful sunrise of vivid colors and cheerful, ocean waves. “ _ Just come over. The key is on the underside of the mailbox for the outside door. I’ll leave the apartment unlocked.”  _ He coughs again, tugging Seonghwa’s heartstrings. If he could fist-fight a virus, he would. 

“What kind of soup do you want? Also, are you drinking fluids?”

It’s that beautiful giggle again. Albeit, a little congested. “ _ I know we just met again yesterday, but when I say that I never stopped loving you, it's because of things like this. _ ” Seonghwa chuckles into the mic as he pushes the door to the nearest convenience store open. “ _ I have some yoojacha in the cupboard. Do they have galbitang? Even just something prepacked is fine.” _

“You’re supposed to be drinking it, dearest. Leaving it in the cupboard is not going to make you feel better.” Seonghwa wanders down the aisles in search of the meal. It is easy enough to locate, but the prepackaged option looks unappetizing. With a grimace, he sets it back onto the shelf. “Do you have...any groceries right now?” Seonghwa knows the answer before the other man even speaks up.

“ _ No–” _

“I’ll be there in 30 minutes. I’m going to a fresh market grocery.” He hangs up before Hongjoong can protest further. 

It takes a little over an hour for him to collect everything he needs to make the soup for the younger. It takes another hour and a half to actually prepare the meal in the ancient instant pot that Hongjoong keeps hidden in the hall closet. However, despite all of the other man’s complaints, he finally settles back into his blanket nest on the couch with a grumble. “You don’t have to do all of this, Hwa,” he says, congestion overpowering the majority of his speech.

“Of course I do,” Seonghwa replies, rinsing his hands in the sink. “I needed to talk to you anyways.” He grabs the dish towel from the rack attached to the wall and is careful to refold it before wandering over to Hongjoong’s side. “I did something I shouldn’t have.” Hongjoong’s eyes immediately widen. Seonghwa can only imagine his thought process as he scrambles to reiterate his statement. “Shit, no, nothing incredibly bad. I just…” he hesitates, lip quivering slightly with his nerves. “I told Wooyoung the truth.”

Hongjoong releases a visible breath, falling against Seongwha’s side. “Don’t scare me like that, you asshole. I thought you were going to say you were leaving me,” he mumbles, face finding its way to the crook of Seonghwa’s neck. “That’s fine.”

“It’s fine?”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong says, throwing a leg over Seonghwa’s lap in an attempt to sprawl out on the small couch. “It’s not going to hurt anyone if he knows we’re together.” The sentence takes a few seconds to truly settle over him. By the time it clicks, the red head’s eyes are already falling shut as he tries to get comfortable enough for a quick nap.

“Wait, not just that, Joong,” Seonghwa whispers, the fear once again leaking into his bone marrow. “I told him about the past. The other timelines. The whole thing.”

Hongjoong sits up quickly, mouth falling into a small, ‘o’. Shuffling around, he pulls his legs off of the older’s lap until they face each other. “You told him everything?” He asks, his voice soft. “Like, the whole thing?”

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa says, anxiety peaking. “I knew better. I should have asked you first, but things were tense. I was scared.” He buries his head in his hands. Within the same breath, Hongjoong is wrapping himself around the brunette again.

“No, Hwa, don’t apologize,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek. “I mean, yeah, I would have preferred that you asked me first, but this isn’t just my story. You’re just as involved as I am, starlight.” Seonghwa’s eyes open to meet the warm, honey-amber of Hongjoong’s brilliant ones. “You’re not alone in this. Really, we should tell them all.”

Seonghwa sighs into the other man’s embrace. It’s careful and welcoming, like vanilla sugar lattes and freshly baked bread. “You’re not angry?” He whispers. Hongjoong only shakes his head in response. “Thank you.”

“No, _ thank you _ ,” the younger says, running a hand down Seonghwa’s spine. It’s more prominent than it used to be. He knows that now that he’s seen his other self in mirror reflected memories. He wonders, for a moment, if Hongjoong noticed the change when they first saw each other on the intersection that day. “Thank you for remembering me. Us. Thank you for not leaving me alone.” 

Eventually, Hongjoong does drift off. Exhausted from battling whatever bug had infected him, Seonghwa makes the executive decision to let the man rest, cradled in his arms, while the soup stews. Time is a finicky thing. However, the moments when it feels like it has slowed to a near-halt are the ones that he loves the most. Even if they’re filled with Hongjoong’s loud snores and drool that pools into the cotton shoulder of his button-up. It’s moments like this that make the efforts of everything else worth it. 

It takes about a week before Hongjoong is well-enough to stand being in the same room as the other five members of the group. By the time everyone is available to stop by, the red-head has already made an itemized list of all the steps they would need to take to reveal everything. It’s only when Seonghwa laughs and asks if Hongjoong had a powerpoint to go with the conversation that the younger’s eyes go wide. _ Of course, he does.  _

“Love, I don’t think you need a slideshow. It will probably unnerve them more than help them,” Seonghwa says, staring over the other’s shoulder as he demonstrates the animations on the powerpoint. “And by that, I mean, don’t use it. Please.” Hongjoong begins to pout, but the brunette presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’m certain they’ll understand it if you just take it slow.”

“But what if they don’t believe me?”

“In that case, is a powerpoint going to really convince them?” Seonghwa smiles against the soft flesh of the younger’s cheek. “I promise, they’re not children. You just have to be patient. It’s a lot to take in.” Hongjoong sighs into his touch. 

“I know, but–” 

A knock at the door cuts him off swiftly. Disentangling himself from where he is wrapped around the red head’s shoulders, he strides to the entryway. He casts a final look towards his lover with a soft smile. They would speak to the others whether it brought their death or not. If they made a critical mistake and risked the entire timeline, there would always be a way to restart. At least, that was what Hongjoong had reassured him. The perfectionist of the past simulation screams within his mind. Pleading to think things through; to stop acting so impulsively. However, the person who he has become pushes forward.

Long, nimble fingers wrap around the doorknob tightly. With a twist, he flings it open to reveal San and Wooyoung before him. One of San’s arms is slung over his boyfriend’s shoulder with carefree energy. The gentle smile that lingers on his lips just before he catches Seonghwa’s eye only grows into a blinding ray of sunlight the moment that he processes the arrival. 

“Hwa!” The boy yells, flinging himself at the older. “I missed you!” As he pulls Seonghwa into a warm hug, he leans close to his ear. “Wooyoung told me everything. Don’t worry about it.” He pulls back with a dimpled grin before fluttering into the apartment in his own, boisterous manner. 

Wooyoung shrugs in a half-apology. “You’re the one who sent him a warning that day, you know.” He scratches at the back of his neck anxiously. The way the man had been avoiding him since the conversation had not flown under the radar. With a sigh, Wooyoung holds out a hand and mutters, “I’m sorry, you know.” It’s hardly there. Even as Seonghwa grabs his hand carefully, Wooyoung barely projects his voice. “I blew up at you that day and then walked out like a zombie.”

“Youngie,” Seonghwa says, voice breaking, “it was to be expected. I should have told you about Hongjoong, but really, it had just started again the night before.” He pauses, gaze falling to their interlaced fingers as he gives their hands a tentative swing. Wooyoung immediately picks up on the action and adds to the motion until their connected palms swing wildly between them. It’s when Wooyoung lets out a hyena-like laugh, accompanied with a wide smile, that Seonghwa knows they’ll be okay. No matter the issues, they will be fine. “You know I can’t speak for what happened before. When Yeosang was still here and I apparently was with Hongjoong back then too. I don’t remember anything about that.” 

Wooyoung nods. “I know. And I don’t hold that against you, Hwa. It’s just a weird feeling.”

“What’s a weird feeling?” A deep voice asks, footsteps slowly approaching them. From down the long hall, Mingi, Yunho, and Jongho, are just coming around the corner. Mingi’s voice echoes through the space easily. His tall figure commands the attention of both men with little resistance. “If you guys want to hear about weird feelings, I let Yunho–”

“No!” Jongho yelps, nearly bolting through the open door. “No one wants to hear about what you let Yunho do. I’ve had to hear  _ enough  _ about that to last a lifetime.” As the youngest walks inside, he offers a slight bow in Wooyoung and Seonghwa’s direction. “Save me from them. They’ve been talking about some new BDSM club–” 

Yunho slings his arm over Jongho’s shoulder, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek. The other man screeches and tears inside the apartment as Mingi’s laughter ricochets off the walls. “Hey, hyung,” Yunho says to Seonghwa. “What’s so important that we all had to meet here?”

Seonghwa frowns slightly.  _ Was it so unlikely to just have friends over for once?  _ As the thought hits him, a gasp evolves from within the apartment. Moving quickly, the group rushes inside only to see Jongho standing just within the entryway. Across the common area, Hongjoong has made himself comfortable on the couch. Eyes wide, he barely shovels the handful of potato chips he was munching on into his mouth before Jongho is babbling.

“What are you doing here, hyung?” Jongho asks, carefully backing into Mingi. “I thought you hated us.” With a laugh, Hongjoong sets down the snacks.

“You’re never going to believe me when I tell you.”

With a pout, Yunho finally speaks up. “Please tell us then.” And so they do. 

The group hardly stops Hongjoong to ask questions. When things become too difficult to talk about in detail, like Seonghwa’s death in the past universe, he passes the metaphorical torch to the eldest. The story comes easy to him. His memories are less like beautiful, glittering jewelry trapped behind glass cases and more like well-loved novels. Leather bound and worn on the edges, each one sits on the shelves as he pulls them down to tell the others about their other selves. 

Lovingly, he tells them about picnics and dance parties. Grass confetti and loud karaoke. Horribly planned flirting disasters and the great curtain debacle. He opens their Garden of Eden and leads them through the safety of its branches. Far from judgement. Far from pain. He tells them everything. 

Eventually, Jongho stops him. Tears welling in his eyes and shoulders slumped, he stares into Seonghwa’s own with all the energy of a kicked puppy. His voice is soft as he whispers, “We were happy?” He seems to curl in on himself as he asks it. “All of us. We worked through so much and had it all ripped away. Yeosang had to come back to this, alone, and doesn’t even speak to us now. And that’s entirely my fault.”

“Jongho, no–” Seonghwa and Hongjoong say at the same time. However, the youngest just holds up a hand. The tears roll down his cheeks like raindrops on stained glass. For a second, Seonghwa pictures the windows of  _ Timeless Treasures _ and the neon glow cast off of them.

“Where is Yeosang?” Yunho asks quietly. “Why was he placed somewhere else?”

“It’s not fair–” San begins, but Wooyoung smacks his shoulder slightly. “It’s not!”

Hongjoong pulls in a sharp breath, cutting the group off effectively. As their attention falls onto the smallest figure in the room, it’s as though his presence is the only thing holding them to the Earth. Just his posture alone demands their obedience. In the silence, he offers a careful whisper. “He’s still in Korea,” he says. “He’s in Pohang.”

Jongho is the first to gasp. “After all this time?” He asks, his voice cracked ice beneath winter sunlight. Slowly breaking, melting under Hongjoong’s powerful gaze. “Why did he lie?” 

“Would you want people to know?” Wooyoung murmurs into the sleeve of his sweater. “If you thought that you ruined everything, would you really want to give people the chance to find you?” Seonghwa watches the way Wooyoung’s shoulders droop with the confession; the realization. They both know, without saying it, that Yeosang would never let people reprimand him for something that he knew was wrong. Instead, he would seek comfort in isolation. 

Hongjoong, however, runs a hand through his red strands. “Yeosang is a descendant of Quercus,” he reminds them gently. “He’s immortal.”

“That doesn’t mean–” Seonghwa immediately cuts himself off. _ Yeosang is immortal.  _ No matter how many timelines they go through, how many rotations the hour-glass flips between,  _ Yeosang is immortal.  _ “He’s never lost his memories.”

“He’s been with me since the beginning. Not on purpose, but his entire lineage is able to withstand time magic. No one knows why, because frankly, time magic isn’t supposed to exist.” He laughs softly, head falling into his open palms. “Yeosang volunteered to sit out this time. He wanted to see if leaving would eliminate the chance of the director attempting to throw Seonghwa into a political marriage. We thought if we got rid of the chance for a tie between the Quercus and Magnoliaceae lines, that we would be able to stop an even worse hierarchy from emerging. We never expected General Choi to offer Jongho up on a silver platter.”

“You never expected war,” Jongho says, his eyes wide. “Who would expect something as criminal as war?” 

“Yeosang thought it was a possibility. We just didn’t think they would use you two to do it.” The phrase hits Seonghwa like a freight train. Hongjoong speaks of Yeosang in present tense. Before he can stop himself, the words tumble out of his mouth.

“You’ve been speaking to him,” Seonghwa notes quietly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wasn’t sure how, Hwa,” Hongjoong whispers. “We’ve always stayed in contact; in every universe.” He says it sadly. As though he does not wish to admit it. As though he is picking up sea glass and throwing it back into the ocean’s abyss without admiring it first. “He was worried for all of you.”

It’s then that Jongho speaks again. Soft at first, but growing with confidence, the group watches as he puts the final pieces of whatever puzzle he has been idling over together. “He’s been leaving me messages, I think. Memories.” Hongjoong’s eyes light up. “I thought they were dreams, over and over, where he whispered how much he loved me. That he never wanted to leave,” Jongho pauses as a stray tear streaks down his golden skin. “I thought that if they were dreams, if there was a paradise like that somewhere, I didn’t want to wake up. I’ve never seen a world so peaceful.” 

Wooyoung’s voice is like a wind chime as he breaks through the few seconds of silence. “I get similar ones. Of San,” he utters, fingers intertwining with the other man’s. “We live together in a little apartment with Byeol. You know, I was never a cat person until I met her.” It’s a broken chuckle, wet with longing for a past too far gone. “There’s always music playing and–”

“And we dance in the kitchen for hours practicing choreo. We make breakfast, because the first thing you asked me was–”

“How you liked your eggs in the morning,” Wooyoung finishes for San, shock flickering over his features. “They were real. You were real.” San presses a kiss to his forehead tenderly. “They are memories.”

From across the room, there’s a quiet cough. Yunho’s face is bright red, up to the tips of his ears, and Mingi wears a mischievous grin. Suddenly broken from the soft moment, San glares in the couple’s direction. “Do you have something you would like to share with the class, Yunho?” San asks. 

“I would, except Jongho already said he doesn’t want to hear anything else about our sex life. So–”

“Are you telling me,” Wooyoung grumbles, staring at the two men, “that the only memories your alternate universe selves have sent you are literally just glorified, high-def sex tips?” Mingi hums as Yunho’s face delves into a deeper flush. Immediately, Jongho lets out a strangled sound in response. 

“Stop asking them! You don’t have to walk home with these two horny bastards.” 

“You could let us drive you,” San suggests, shrugging when the youngest stares daggers back at him. “It’s just an idea, you gym bunny.” 

Hongjoong interrupts the debate with a whistle. “I didn’t miss this much, that’s for sure.” Seonghwa can’t fight back the bout of laughter that spills from his throat almost immediately. The red head beside him only rolls his eyes; a quirk lifting the corner of his lips into the ghost of a smile. “If you all want to see Yeosang again, I’m certain he would be more than willing to–”

“Please,” Jongho pleads weakly. “I’ll do anything at this point, hyung. I just need to see him again.” With a smile, Hongjoong pulls out his cellphone and scrolls through the short list of contacts. Without warning, he presses on Yeosang’s name and shoves the device into Jongho’s hands. As the call goes through, the ringing is overpowered by the brunette’s panicked, “What are you–”

“ _ Hongjoong? Why are you calling me? _ ” A deep voice crackles through the speaker. It’s owner laces the question with a slight lisp that catches the room by their heartstrings. “ _ Hyung? _ ”

“Yeosang?” Jongho asks softly. It’s a careful procedure. Too much pressure and the ice may shatter beneath his vigilant footfalls. “Is that actually you?”

The other man does not speak. Instead, the line falls to pure silence. Fear coating Jongho’s expression like molten gold, he pulls the phone away from his ear to check the call status. While it reflects that the two lines are still connected, the only sound coming from the other end is the faint sniffling that begins to emanate. Finally, Yeosang speaks again.

“ _ Do you remember? _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Hello, loves! Sorry it took almost a full week for me to update! I was still recovering from my injury and managed to also get sick in the meantime. I hope this is an okay chapter! I hope you are all well and safe. 
> 
> Find me on Twitter or Insta: @KyojinOuji  
> I always follow back and love new friends.
> 
> Cheers! ❀


	6. Stardust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❀ TW: Suicide reference, Past Drug Use, Overdose, Addiction, Past Death ❀

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Not proof-read or Beta-read so there are bound to be mistakes.  
> (Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ❀

> [ _“No more ego._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=LEjeAz16Qnak6kJT61gDag)
> 
> [ _Nothing to control us; painless freedom._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=LEjeAz16Qnak6kJT61gDag)
> 
> [ _Tomorrow, we're gonna be stardust._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=LEjeAz16Qnak6kJT61gDag)
> 
> [ _Stand up can you keep your head?_ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=LEjeAz16Qnak6kJT61gDag)
> 
> [ _Love me like tomorrow we're dead._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=LEjeAz16Qnak6kJT61gDag)
> 
> [ _I've got this funny feeling that I just can't shake._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=LEjeAz16Qnak6kJT61gDag)
> 
> [ _The devil in the wires; the data eating up my brain._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=LEjeAz16Qnak6kJT61gDag)
> 
> [ _There's a flood that's coming up to my bed._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=LEjeAz16Qnak6kJT61gDag)
> 
> [ _Chaos wins and I can't get over it.”_ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=LEjeAz16Qnak6kJT61gDag)
> 
> [ **_Stardust_ ** _\- IAMX_ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=LEjeAz16Qnak6kJT61gDag)

* * *

Sunday morning brings soft light and warm laughter. The joyful sound emanates from the kitchen as Seonghwa’s bare feet caress the hardwood of Hongjoong’s floor. He doesn’t remember staying the night, but truly, it did not matter. The wooden stake of familiarity being driven into his heart is what commands his attention instead. In three strides, he crosses the threshold down the hall and into the spacious room. Leaning against the granite countertop is a familiar flash of blonde. Overgrown roots peek out from his scalp, their dark tone breaking up the light coloring of his hair. However, they draw all of the attention to the resin cast hazel of his eyes. With a perfect smile, Kang Yeosang bows slightly.

“Hyung–” The word does not finish tumbling from his lips before Seonghwa has him wrapped tightly in his arms. He smells like jasmine and honey. Like the past and the future. Yeosang sighs into the embrace. All of the tension seems to flee from his shoulders within an instant. “Seonghwa,” he whispers into the crook of the oldest’s neck. “It’s been a while.”

With a playful shove, Seongwha pulls back from the blonde. “Don’t ever do that again. I don’t care who you think you’re helping,” he says bitterly. With a tearful laugh– when did the tears start to fall?– the younger only shakes his head. _He wouldn’t._ And for Seonghwa, that was all that seemed to matter. 

Hongjoong’s fingers thread with his own carefully. Beside him, the red head casts a smile of unspoken promises and the warmth of delicate sunbeams. Together, all eight of them, they can outrun the hands of time. It would not be easy, but no one had ever dared to utter those words anyways. Instead, Hongjoong gives his hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Yesterday’s wake is always going to be on our heels,” he says softly. “Just keep in mind that it never has to pull us down.” The tone of his voice is like the calming petrichor. Certain, but hardly a strong enough presence to shake the Earth to its core. It is everything Hongjoong is; and all that he will be. 

Yeosang’s gaze falls onto their intertwined fingers. A mysterious expression flitters over his features like dew, but passes just as quickly. Rather than pushing the younger to lay all of his secrets bare, Seonghwa instead strives to make small-talk. Anything that will allow them the chance to just simply catch up on the experiences that they have seemingly missed from each other. To become more than just mirror reflections of who they once were. To create memories of their own again.

“When did you get in?” Seonghwa asks, wiggling out of Hongjoong’s grasp and meandering to the cupboard where he assumes that Hongjoong keeps the mugs. He has hardly been to this apartment enough times to know for sure, however, with Hongjoong’s height they have to be one of the lower sets. As the wooden door swings open, he is proud to see that his guess was correct. Red ceramic meets his touch with cold appeal. The mug, he observes, is in the shape of a round cardinal. It’s bushy eyebrows speak volumes as Hongjoong’s laughter echoes through the space. “What?”

“Nothing,” the other man smirks, eyeing the cup. “I bought that because it reminded me of you.” Seonghwa glances down, a pout settling over his lips. It looked nothing like him. Rolling his eyes, he turns towards the half-full coffeepot just as Yeosang answers the earlier question. 

“Around 8am. Hongjoong has been more than colorful while recounting your experiences so far,” he mumbles over the edge of his own floral mug. “I’m sad I missed all the fun. Sounds like you always getting plowed over by a man a couple inches shorter than you is commonplace in every universe.”

From Seonghwa’s lips tumbles a dramatized gasp. Facing Hongjoong, he motions wildly. “You had to tell him that you’ve knocked me on my ass twice?” The question is squeaky with embarrassment, much to his dismay, and it only makes the other two cackle. 

“It’s cute that you think you’ve only fallen on your ass twice, hyung,” Yeosang murmurs, drawing a sip of what Seonghwa can only assume is mostly sugar and milk with a hint of caffeine. As he watches the other set the drink onto the counter behind him, his suspicions are confirmed instantly. The thick liquid is a light beige and sloshes around the cup like frothy ocean tides. “I’m pretty sure that only one of the universes we’ve been to have managed to keep you upright.”

“The one with the park swings, yeah?” Hongjoong asks, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips. Yeosang nods with a hum. “I think it was me who ended up on the ground that time.” From his station near the coffee pot, he frowns at the two men. With everything out in the open like this, he cannot help but face down the burning green flames of envy as they lick at his heart. There was so much he hadn’t remembered. Things that he probably never would. Memories that only two people had access to, and frankly, it made him jealous. 

Yeosang seems to sense this, though, and meets his potent stare. “There was a timeline, one of the very first, where the three of us were childhood friends,” he says, a finger tracing designs on the granite surface behind him. “We met on a neighborhood playground. Hongjoong had run away from his foster parents and claimed that he was living under the slides. You came with your nanny.” He hums quietly. “I don’t remember why I was there, honestly. It was near my house and it was probably before I had my first skateboard. I used to watch the older boys ride.” 

Hongjoong laughs at that. “You mean you used to gawk at them until they finally taught you how to stand on the board without crashing.”

“It’s the same thing!” Yeosang yelps sharply. “Anyways, when your nanny wasn’t watching, you tried to jump off of the swings. Not because you thought you could fly or anything stupid like that,” he pauses, staring into the middle distance for a moment. “You said you just wanted to know what would happen. Hongjoong panicked, though, and thought that he would have to reset the timeline right then and there if you broke your neck. He threw himself at you just as you were about to hit the ground.”

“I thought I could catch him,” Hongjoong mumbles. 

“He was at least 6 inches taller than you,” Yeosang says with a shug. “And anyways, it was cute as hell. You both ended up with a couple dozen scratches and Hongjoong finally went back to his house because he wanted his minion bandages. It was a win for everyone involved.”

Seonghwa laughs at the thought. The memory does not come back to him. While the idea is disappointing, that even after hearing the details, there is still so little he knows. However, it does not bother him as much as it truly could. It was motivation. A burning ember to keep moving. Before he can fight the question out of his mind, it slips from his lips.

“How did that timeline end?” He knows what the true meaning is. They all do. _How did I die?_ Hongjoong frowns and takes a step forward. And then another. Within seconds, his long arms are wrapping around Seonghwa’s waist. Yeosang, realizing the intimacy of the action, speaks for him. 

“You drowned.”

The confession strikes him as odd. In both of the universes that he had lived through, his parents always made it part of their criteria to teach him to swim. It was part of being privy to the Magnoliaceae line. Yunho’s family instructed him through years of swim classes in their private gym. Jeong Yunho was the descendent of Asparagaceae and particularly adept in all things athletic. It was inspiring, really, if Seonghwa didn’t despise the water as much as he did. As if branded by a torch, his distaste of deep water clicks in his mind. The fear was directly stemming from the past timeline. 

“It was on purpose,” Seonghwa says, eyes wide. “I drowned myself, didn’t I?” Hongjoong’s first Seonghwa– his first love. It was the beginning universe; one where the man did not know how to fully use his abilities. He went months believing that Seonghwa was gone forever. Suffering with what the eldest had done to him; to everyone he left behind. The realization makes his stomach toil nauseatingly. “Why?”

“I never found out,” Hongjoong says, burying his nose deep into the fabric of Seonghwa’s shirt. “You didn’t leave a note. You left nothing behind, Hwa.”

“Except you.”

“Except us,” Hongjoong corrects. Not the group. He means their relationship. Their bond. Seonghwa threw it to the side for some unknown reason and walked into the sea without a second glance. “It’s in the past, starlight.” Seonghwa can only nod. 

Later, the group sits around the small coffee table in the center of Hongjoong’s common area. Aside from Yeosang’s frantic tapping on his phone screen, the room sits in comfortable silence. Seonghwa’s head on Hongjoong’s shoulder, the younger’s arm wrapped around him as he studies a novel held tenderly in his grasp. The others were set to arrive within the hour for dinner and to welcome Yeosang back into their lives. However, that did not mean that the nerves were not there. The thought that anything could go haywire within a minute. The presence of the world spinning like a bottle top and sending them all tumbling. He felt like a cocktail being mixed to death in a shaker. One moment, all was calm, but the next could always bring forth catastrophe. 

Hongjoong peers at him from beneath thick eyelashes, gaze curious. “Are you alright, Hwa?” He asks, closing his book with his thumb between the pages. “You look pale.” With that, he lifts his hand until the back of it settles against Seonghwa’s forehead. Humming, he frowns, “You don’t have a temperature.”

“I’m fine, love, don’t worry,” Seonghwa says, wrapping his fingers around Hongjoong’s delicate ones. Gingerly, he presses a kiss against the tender flesh of the red head’s wrist. “Just tired.” Hongjoong’s expression does not soften. 

Yeosang, however, interrupts with a quiet laugh. “You’re really telling Kim Hongjoong not to worry? That’s just one of his many talents,” he says, chuckling even more when Hongjoong tries to smack his shoulder. The game on Yeosang’s phone pings with a ‘you lose’ graphic almost immediately. With a sigh, he sets the device on the coffee table. “The group is supposed to be here soon, right?”

Hongjoong hums in agreement. “We told them about 4pm. It’s, what, like almost 5pm now?” The analog clock on the wall confirms the suggestion. Metallic hands in the shape of shooting stars glitter against the royal blue backdrop of the clock’s face with every ticking minute. In the background, the intricate constellations and traditional, astrological details are carved in silver and gold. No matter how many times he sees it, Seonghwa believes that the clock itself reflects so much of Hongjoong. Delicate yet refined. Outspoken, but somehow still subtle. Ethereal and celestial.

“What’s taking them so long?” Seonghwa asks, finally removing himself from his place against Hongjoong’s shoulder. “Traffic couldn’t have been that bad. Especially not with Mingi, Yunho, and Jongho walking here.” The mention of Jongho has a visible effect on the youngest in the room. Just as the name is ushered into the space, Yeosang’s entire frame goes rigid. Light eyes wide, he observes his hands as though they have quickly become the most interesting things he has ever witnessed. Eyebrow quirked, Seonghwa leans forward until Yeosang is all but forced to meet his inquisitive gaze. “Have you spoken to him yet?”

“Of course not,” Yeosang mumbles, raising his thumb to his lips. Carefully, the man nibbles on a hangnail; pondering his next course of action. “Not since you guys called on Friday.” 

“Why not?” Hongjoong asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “He loves you. You love him. Why avoid it?” Seonghwa knows it is not that easy. They all do. However, it is a nice thought to know that there was no hesitation to accept the couple once more. They were all bound to each other. Be it through timelines or relationships, the eight of them were a myriad of memories and emotions that could not be given names without all spirits laced together in some intricate way. A wicked web or a stunning tapestry. Beauty had always been in the eye of the beholder. 

Yeosang grunts, pulling his thumb away from his mouth quickly. “It’s hard,” he says, rubbing at the sore spot. “How much does he actually remember? I don’t want to overwhelm him.” 

“It’s Jongho,” Seonghwa remarks, folding his hands in his lap neatly. “It takes a lot to overwhelm him.” As he says it, he knows the truth within the statement. Jongho is a lover, but also built to the core to be a fighter. His chilled demeanor did not extend so far into his bones that he would be unaffected by Yeosang’s reluctance, however, the man would not crumple to the ground in disbelief the moment Yeosang revealed the extent of their intertwining fates. 

Yeosang nods, still focused on whatever small wound he inflicted upon his finger. It’s a quiet reassurance, but one that speaks volumes. As he lifts his phone from where he discarded it on the table, a knock finally sounds from the other side of the door. Carefully, Seonghwa pulls himself off of the couch and wanders over to answer it. Rather than the full party of visitors they are expecting, only Wooyoung stands on the other side with a hand on his hip. 

Raising an eyebrow, Seonghwa silently asks, “ _Where’s San_?” The other man rolls his eyes dramatically and shrugs. In any other situation, he might be worried. Instead, though, he hears the pounding footsteps of the boyfriend round the corner. 

“He pushed me,” San gasps, out of breath “Down the stairs!” Shock passes over the eldest’s expression quickly. By the time he regains control over his face, San is already in front of them. Yet, within that second, Wooyoung is entering Hongjoong’s apartment with a call over his shoulder.

“You deserved it!” 

“What did you do, bud?” Seonghwa asks, eyes wide. San sighs and runs his fingers through his black and green hair messily. “Choi San, if you hurt Wooyoung–”

“I brought up marriage,” San mumbles, face flushed crimson. “He said we would talk about it later and I just...I don’t know. I panicked.” His long fingers come up to toy with the leather cord of his choker. “I told him if he didn’t want to look at the bigger picture, then we should just break it off.” The words hit Seonghwa like a comet. 

“Oh, Sannie,” Seonghwa tugs the door shut behind him, giving the two of them privacy in the apartment hall. “Why would you assume after everything that he doesn’t want forever with you?” San looks to him with tears bubbling along his lower-lash line. Within seconds, the older pulls the delicate man to his chest. “I’ve known Wooyoung for a long time– in every universe. You are his eternity. Give him time to realize that.”

“What if we don’t have time, hyung?” It’s a breath into the cotton of Seonghwa’s shirt. Hardly a whisper. Hardly even there. 

“There’s always going to be time, Sanshine. Just keep your head up.”

As they enter the apartment together, Seonghwa sees a sight that he desperately wished for over the months present in this universe. Wooyoung’s arms wrapped tightly around Yeosang’s waist, quiet sobs buried in the crook of the blonde’s neck. It’s private. It’s so private, but Seonghwa can’t tear his gaze away from his two friends. Memories of a childhood that was so distant, and not quite his, filter back to him like tea through a metal strainer. Picnics in the woods. Riverside stone skipping. Laughter like bells in the morning mist. Marshmallows over a campfire and barefeet in the sand. Memories that he had of the three of them bundled together and holding on for dear life. He hardly catches the way Wooyoung mumbles a quiet prayer into Yeosang’s neck.

_“Don’t you ever leave me again.”_

It is not long before the others arrive. As the group settles into the small common area, Seonghwa can only watch the way Jongho’s furtive glances dance along the high points of Yeosang’s cheekbones. The way it lingers on his pouty lips and the tip of his nose. He had refused to have a moment alone with the blonde. The youngest must feel the weight of his stare, because suddenly, deep mahogany eyes lock onto his own. The confidence he holds radiates the halo of a flickering flame rather than the bashful response he had expected to see arise from the man. It only takes an instant, but the calm that settles over him is unparalleled. Jongho and Yeosang will be fine. No matter what comes at them or stands in their way, he can only believe that their sheer will provides a protective shield over the two younger men. Yeosang’s knowing look in Jongho’s direction, the guarded smile, is all he needs to push the conversation forward. 

“My father is having another gala,” Seonghwa says, voice low. “I know it’s stupid to bring it up only now, but Jongho and I have been aware of it for a while. Dad is treating it like an engagement party. We’re supposed to represent our houses in front of the public eye, but I have reason to believe there is an ulterior motive to the event.”

Jongho nods along with what Seonghwa says, a frown pulling at the edges of his lips. “It’s impossible for us to avoid the engagement in this world,” he murmurs, gaze still fixed on Yeosang. “I’m certain that these men would not hesitate to throw us to the wolves. They were so willing to let Yeosang leave, only because there was another pawn in place.” His voice carries through the room with certainty. It was a concept Seonghwa had not thought of prior to Jongho bringing it up the night before. 

Just after he and Hongjoong had finished dinner, his phone had been blowing up. Upon a quick glance, Jongho’s frantic calls were out of the norm, and spiked his heart rate within seconds. It took Hongjoong’s carefully tugs to finally draw him to the couch as he mumbled into the cellphone. Jongho, however, was confident in the things that he had come to learn. 

“We already know they’re using us. They’ll kill us if we run this time, Seonghwa.” He was right. Absolutely and certainly right in every possible sense. Maybe that was why his hands shook as Hongjoong fought to pry answers out of him following the phone call. 

Even now, nearly twenty-four hours later, Seonghwa still felt the slight tremor run through his nerves. They truly did not know how valuable their lives were. It was possible they would be kept alive, imprisoned somewhere like lab rats, just to retain the purity of their lineage. Or maybe, they would be free. They could not take the chance this time, though, and instead of pushing to do so, they simply agreed to take the hit. 

“We’ll go to the gala. The two of us will play the role of a happy couple and see if we can find any information about literally anything. We’re working from a blank book right now and it’s beginning to feel impossible just to write the story,” says Seonghwa, his grasp finding Hongjoong’s. “Mingi, your parents are expected to make an appearance as well. Yunho, I’m certain we can get you on the guest list if you want to be present?”

Yunho nods softly, his arm sliding over Mingi’s shoulder. “Do you think there’s a way to get all eight of us there?” He asks, his brown eyes inquisitive and warm. Yunho had always been a loving figure in Seonghwa’s life. In this universe, though, he had no idea when the man became such a permanent fixture. He would not return him for the world.

Seonghwa hums in response. From across the table, Jongho shoots him a warning glance. _There was no way._ They both knew it. Even Yunho had to understand that. So, he can only shake his head slightly. 

“Probably not,” Jongho says, pout visible. “Yeosang and Hongjoong most certainly cannot step foot near either one of our families.” There’s the ghost of a gummy smile there as he says it. “As much as their presence might be appreciated,” he adds, a not-so-subtle wink fluttering in Yeosang’s direction. The older man covers his mouth with his hand as a deep chuckle vibrates from within his chest. For a moment, Seonghwa’s heart swells for the couple. Time was a finicky thing, but in this universe, love was not. Memories were not.

San frowns from his spot across the circle. “I could use my luck to–”

“No,” Wooyoung almost growls. The action sets the group back slightly. “You will not be doing that.” Immediately, the command sends San into something bitter. 

“Oh, is that so, Woo?” He asks, leaning forward. “And why the fuck not?” San’s eyes narrow with the question. The ember of whatever cosmos the two had building between them since they arrived seems to only be fanned by the quiet wolf whistle that emerges from Mingi’s lips. 

“Because you don’t need to be shoving your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Wooyoung sniffs. Within seconds, San is standing from his spot in the circle and turning away from his partner with an aggravated huff. Before Wooyoung can say anything, San is already moving towards the door. “San–”

“No,” San says, not looking at the other man. “You let me know what your plan is. Right now, I can’t stand to be in the same room as you.” The door slams before anyone can call him back. Seonghwa, finally, feels as though enough is enough. Without a second thought, he is charging out after the younger man. Apparently, though, he is not the only one with the idea. Behind him, Yunho and Hongjoong are trailing. 

They find San curled in on himself on one of the bookshop’s pleather couches. He’s already sobbing silently. As they approach, his cheek makes a sickly sound as he peels it from the material. With a sad, puppy-like look, he sniffles until the three pile onto him as though they’re all children. A ragtag army of exhausted souls looking for solace. 

“You guys didn’t have to come with me,” San mumbles, rubbing at his damp cheeks. Hongjoong, in turn, pulls him into his lap easily. “Wooyoung is probably more upset than I am. He needs you guys right now.”

“He has the others, Sannie,” Yunho says, thumbing at a stray tear that rolls down the younger’s chin. “You need us. And if you need us, we’re going to be there no matter what.” The tallest leans forward to press a feather-light kiss to San’s forehead. With a sigh, San settles against Hongjoong’s shoulder. His eyes fall shut slowly. Seonghwa intertwines his fingers with the magic-user’s. After moments of silence, San is speaking softly. 

“I don’t understand why he’s being so brittle,” he whispers into Hongjoong’s shirt. “He was so happy on Friday, but ever since then he’s just been…”

“Tense?” Hongjoong supplies. He runs his nails down San’s spine. And then back up. It’s a parental gesture that makes Seonghwa’s heartstrings pull lovingly.

San nods again. “I know he doesn’t mean to, but it hurts.” He pauses, eyelids fluttering. “I think he’s scared of losing everything again.” Hongjoong hums quietly. 

“Aren’t we all?” Yunho asks. His long fingers run through San’s green and black strands over and over. It’s a caring gesture; just grounding enough to keep the younger present, but not so much that it overwhelms him. “It’s impossible to guess what’s going to happen next. Every turn is like running straight into a glass wall, except there’s always the chance that we shatter it on impact.” The comment pulls a laugh from San. 

It’s only then that Wooyoung’s figure appears in the doorway leading up to the apartment. Seonghwa, noticing the man’s apprehensive stance, offers a reluctant smile. Carefully, he pulls himself from the dog pile, locking eyes with Hongjoong knowingly, and makes his way to the performer. “You know,” he says softly, watching the others carefully unwind themselves from each other. “You may be one of my best friends, but if you cause that boy any more pain, I’m going to make a necklace out of your molars.” Wooyoung’s eyes go wide at the threat. “I’m not kidding, Woo. Talk to him.”

With that, he waves lightly towards San and begins to climb the stairs. Yunho and Hongjoong follow on his heels, whispering to each other. No doubt, they are also planning on where to hide Wooyoung’s body if he continues to hide his emotions from his boyfriend. As they make their way back into the apartment, they are met with the odd silence that surrounds the other three men. Mingi sits awkwardly on the floor between Yeosang and Jongho. Neither party speaks, leaving the tall, red head to his own devices. The moment Yunho walks over the threshold, his boyfriend’s eyes light up immediately. 

“Everything go okay?” Mingi asks, shuffling over until Yunho’s arms wrap around his midsection tightly. The older nods, pressing a kiss to the soft crown of Mingi’s head, and runs his fingers mindlessly down the man’s back. “Wooyoung’s been tenser than usual. Yeosang really bit into him though. So did Jongho.”

“Did he say why he’s been so snappy?” Hongjoong asks, raising an eyebrow. Yeosang frowns with the question, eyes narrowing. “Don’t look at me like that, Yeo. You might have a soft spot for him, but it doesn’t matter right now. He’s hurting San over and over and won’t even give him a reason.

“He has a reason, Hongjoong,” Jongho says finally. “Just like anyone else, he has a reason.”

“A stupid one,” interjects Mingi with a pout. “A stupid reason that he could literally just tell San, but instead his fear of rejection is getting in the way.”

Seonghwa gapes. _Rejection_? San would offer his life to Wooyoung on a golden platter if given the chance. Yeosang seems to sense the confusion as it hits the eldest. With a furtive glance, he runs his fingers through his hair.

“There was a timeline where San had a tendency to disappear. He would just wake up one morning and leave his apartment for days on end. Wooyoung almost always found him drunk and high out of his mind on the bench of a bus stop.” Yeosang pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, teething at the sensitive flesh, and continues. “One time, San didn’t come back. The police found him in a warehouse with nearly a dozen other users. They had all been given a bad batch of heroin, laced with enough fentanyl and horse tranquilizers to knock out an elephant.” The admission rings clearly through the room.

Wooyoung was not afraid of commitment. He was not against the idea of living his life out with the man that held the other end of his red thread. He was terrified to lose that man. To see him leave his life once again and be powerless to stop it. While everyone seemed to have memories of the past filled to the brim with happiness, Wooyoung had been regifted that of one of his darkest timelines. Before Friday, everything would have been fine. Now, however, Seonghwa can’t help but feel responsible for the sudden tension that appeared between the two men. 

As though reading his thoughts, Hongjoong intertwines their fingers easily. “They’re grown men, Hwa.” The older sighs into his touch. They were all adults. So, why did he feel as though he had to protect the others from themselves? Instead of responding, Seonghwa pulls Hongjoong with him to the couch and flops onto the cushions. His lover takes the lead quietly, letting the brunette’s eyes fall shut for just a few minutes of rest. “We need to come up with a way to retain memories between timelines. Only Yeosang and I have the ability to keep our own, but it’s a lot to bear knowing that we will just have to start the process over again and again.”

Jongho’s focused gaze lands onto Yeosang’s. Silently, the two pass unspoken ideas between each other. It’s almost touching, if not for the near creepy concept of it all. However, Jongho nods and offers whatever thought the two seemed to share. “You’ve been using forget-me-nots to remind Seonghwa in every universe.” It is not a question. Rather, the man says it plainly as day. With the statement, Seonghwa’s eyes fly open.

“That was you?” He asks. The forget-me-nots on his pillow. Those in his coat pocket; that he was certain came from Yeosang. The framed blue flowers in their apartments and the bookstore. “It was always you,” the whisper echoes softly through the common room. “I’m so stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Hongjoong mumbles against the soft skin of his temple, already searing a kiss into his flesh. “A little dorky, sometimes oblivious, but never stupid.” The red head pulls away with a blinding grin. It’s enough for Seonghwa to surge forward and press their lips together. Honeysuckle and citrus fills his senses; topped with something sweet like strawberry nectar. The group in the background gags as Seonghwa pulls away carefully, tucking a strand of the other man’s hair behind his metal-twined ear. 

“I don’t know,” San says from the doorway, a grimace crossing his face. “He put a can of soda in the microwave like three weeks ago.”

“I was drunk,” Seonghwa complains, glaring daggers at the reappearing couple. “You shouldn’t be drinking that shit anyways. It was for your own good.” Wooyoung only laughs as San’s dark eyes roll dramatically. 

“A fire hazard is just as bad for the soul, hyung.” San feigns an innocent , hand-over-heart gesture before meandering back into the apartment. Seonghwa notices now the way that Wooyoung’s fingers wrap tightly around the older man’s wrist. His face tear stained and still flushed. Most of all, however, Seonghwa notices the smile that ghosts over the couple’s lips. Morning dew on untrodden grass; undisturbed and peaceful. Knowingly, he catches San’s eye. The younger man’s dimples appear on reflex. They would always be fine. 

As San repositions in the circle, Wooyoung slung over his lap in an instant, the group suddenly feels normal. Even Yeosang and Jongho have moved closer, Yeosang’s fingers mindlessly tracing intricate designs into the sensitive dip of Jongho’s wrist. It’s only mere minutes before the conversation picks back up with Mingi catching the other two up to speed. Wooyoung cocks his head to the side, casting a glance in Hongjoong’s direction, and motions at the various tattoos littering the red head’s arms. 

“Would a tattoo or something work?” Hongjoong shakes his head just as Yeosang utters a soft, ‘no’. “Why not?” Wooyoung asks, eyebrows furrowing tentatively. 

“Marks don’t seem to stay on the body from world to world. For one, Seonghwa would have a scar from the bullet hole if they did. Secondarily, these,” he waves his arm, showcasing the inky lines and calligraphy, “weren’t there in the last universe. They won’t be there again in the next.”

“It’s a full reset,” Yeosang says, finally drawing his attention away from Jongho’s wrist. “Memories are the only thing we’ve been able to retain. No matter how many universes we’re thrown through, it’s like being reborn in each one.” 

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” Yunho asks suddenly, nibbling on a loose hangnail. “We don’t really live through our childhood again and again. Every timeline reset starts with us somewhere close to this age.” 

Hongjoong pauses, his brow furrowing significantly. “You’re saying the memories from the early past are–”

“Artificial,” Mingi finishes. His eyes grow wide as a palm slaps over his mouth suddenly. “Hongjoong, how many times have you reset the timeline?”

“One-thousand and fifteen,” Yeosang responds immediately. “This is Universe #1116.” 

Mingi nods, “And how many of those have you actually lived through? Completely?” 

“None,” Hongjoong whispers, “I’ve never died. It’s too risky. Are you saying that the we aren’t completely altering the universe?”

“I’m saying that we’re not the only ones involved in this,” Mingi states. It’s as though the world they have created seems to crumble around them spectacularly. A flash of a million colors behind Seonghwa’s eyelids. The quickening of a heartbeat. And the growing heat of a raging flame. “Seonghwa, Jongho, I’ll go to the gala.” Yunho nods beside him, confirming that he too would be attending. 

“We will too,” Wooyoung says, eyes falling onto San. “You guys might need a little entertainment,” San winks mischievously as his boyfriend rolls his eyes. “And some luck.”

The night of the gala brings tension and an ethereal sense of right and wrong. As they move in the massive ballroom in the building beside the Park’s company, it’s as though a celestial eye has been placed over them to watch their every move. Yet still, they push through the crowd radiating power and majesty. To command the silver tongue of a political leader, one must look the part. In a suit of crushed red velvet, hair pushed back from his face and donned with a delicate, ruby circlet, Seonghwa is a tempest held together by bright thread. 

On his arm, Jongho’s fingers cling to him in the silhouette of a proper fiance. Clad in a pinstriped suit of the deepest navy blue, nearing the midnight embrace of black, Choi Jongho looks the role of a general’s son. With just a glance, he could command an army. With the flick of his wrist, decimate a town. Seonghwa did not wish to see the day that he would have to start a war. Rather than opting for the stylists offer of a circlet to match the eldest’s, he chose to instead hang a golden chain from the base to tip of his ear. Off the highest point, a reflective red teardrop caught the light with every motion. 

“It’s like blood,” San said, leaning forward just enough to flick the gemstone. “Perfect for a warlord couple.” San’s own outfit was a simple tunic of black lace, embroidered with golden leaves. Tight leather slacks were belted by a long, silver chain. Off every divet hung a separate, glittering crystal. Around his shoulders was a brilliant cape of black silk and lace. Wooyoung, on the other hand, wore the exact same outfit in a monochromatic white scheme. The two operated as shining stars in a perfectly balanced constellation. And Seonghwa could not approve more of the harmony the two men had seemingly found since their fight. 

“Blood can be pretty,” Yunho says absentmindedly. His fingers work quickly to adjust the golden buttons of his forest green, suede blazer. Mingi had begged him to wear whatever ensemble he picked out for the taller man and Yunho instantly found himself powerless to say no. The blazer was cinched spectacularly at the waist, showcasing Yunho’s figure, and beneath it was a simple black turtleneck. A thin golden chain hung over his chest, an emerald coin jingling with every movement. Mingi, however, swats at his boyfriend’s hands.

“Stop buttoning it up more, you look incredible,” he grumbles, adjusting Yunho’s top again. Mingi, the fashion god that he appeared to be, had paired a white cotton vest, circulating with golden embroidery of intricate apple blossoms, with a thin white blouse. He then went the extra mile and chose a tight pair of black, high waisted slacks. The pants featured massive cutouts down both thighs that had been patched with sheer, black lace. Over those, golden chains wrapped from his waist to his mid thigh. “Yunho, I’m serious, stop fidgeting.”

“It’s going to be chilly in there! What if this pops open and they see my nip–” 

“You’re going to be fine, baby.” Mingi presses a kiss to the other man’s lips with a smile. It’s sickeningly sweet to watch the two interact. However, Seonghwa would never grow bored of it. Yunho and Mingi were like two separate suns being held together by each other’s gravitational pull. Their energy always had the potential to self-destruct, but some portion of the chaos was able to lend towards unity instead. Like putting two walkie talkies next to each other and hoping the sound barrier did not explode. 

In a similar sense, Seonghwa had given himself the title of the moon in his relationship with Hongjoong. The younger man’s blinding smiles and twinkling laughter were enough to blind him. The warmth of his love pooling in his stomach, he knows for certain that Hongjoong is his sun. His brightest star. Seonghwa was the opposite. Quiet and reflective, he sought to observe and offer hope for those that dared to dream. 

Even now, as the group splinters off into the crowd to gather intel, Seonghwa can feel himself overseeing where they disperse to. Wooyoung and San immediately managed to corner one of the top men from the health-services department. Near the refreshments, Mingi picks at finger foods while Yunho uses his boy-next-door attitude to weasel the two of them into a conversation with one of the many journalists present for the evening. What Seonghwa does not expect, however, is Jongho’s father approaching them almost immediately with a squirrelish man at his side. General Choi presses his palm into Seonghwa’s and forces him into a strong handshake before the Magnoliaceae descendent can speak.

“Nice to see you again, Park Seonghwa,” General Choi says, hardly casting a glance at his own son. “I’m glad to know that you wrangled Jongho into something presentable.”

“Father, please,” Jongho laughs, the tone obviously faux. “You know, I am always a fool for designer products.” General Choi offers something that could be interpreted as a genuine chuckle. If only it reached his eyes, maybe Seonghwa would believe it. 

The older man motions at the individual next to him. “I would like to introduce you both to one of our newest scientific leads under Mr. Park’s company. He’ll be working directly with us to create a better tomorrow between our two families.” As he says it, Seonghwa’s stomach flips violently. It’s the vile, bitterness of the thought that peaks the headache clawing at the edge of his brain. The moment he gets back to Hongjoong’s apartment, he’s begging him for a cup of hot tea.

The man holds out a hand with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you both,” he says as Seonghwa returns the gesture. His grip is firm. Warning. Familiar. “My name is Eden. I’d like to show you something, if you can find the time to get away from the gala for a moment?” Something screams at Seonghwa to say no. To decline the offer, find the others, and run back to the bookshop and into the safety of Hongjoong’s arms. To find citrus and honeysuckle. Instead, he smiles pleasantly. 

“An honor, Eden,” he gestures widely at the space, “lead the way.” One step after another, he watches as Eden leads them through the wide, wooden panelled doors of the ballroom. It shocks him, only slightly, as they exit the building entirely and cross the parking lot of his father’s company. As they step into the elevator of the Park’s building, Eden presses a combination of buttons for a floor Seonghwa does not recognize. It is not a surprise, as there are dozens of floor combinations that are not advertised to the base-level staff. However, the metal box shoots lower and lower until finally they come to a screeching stop. The code, Seonghwa realizes with a shiver he cannot explain, was ‘1-0-2-4’. Again, the voice in the back of his mind begs for attention. It begs to stand center stage, just once, and garner Seonghwa’s attention. 

“We have been working on a new project. One that will change the future of genetic modification as a whole,” Eden says, sliding a transparent card through the crevice in the wall-mounted scanner. “Have you ever heard of parallel universes?” Seonghwa glances to Jongho quickly. The man has schooled his expression into something cold and blank. The older can only pray that he is doing the same.

“Vaguely,” Seonghwa utters softly. “It’s essentially just other versions of ourselves, right?”

Eden hums, a frown pulling at his lips as he pushes the first of three doors open. “Mostly, yes. However, there is so much more to it,” Eden mumbles, focusing on the next entrance’s command codes. “A parallel universe could be anything from identical to our own, with delicate, slight changes, to something drastically different. Your ‘other selves’, how you put it, don’t have the same connections to a certain ruleset in the way we do here. In this universe, murder is illegal. But in another, it may be considered moral obligation.” Eden smirks as the door’s lock pops open. 

“How would it ever be–” Jongho begins, only to be cut off by the scientist.

“Not saying that it is, but it is always possible,” Eden says, shepherding them into the final section. Once again, he fiddles with the keycard and number pad on the door. “Would you want to meet them?” The silence shatters with the question. The loud beep of the final metal door as it clicks open. “Your parallel selves.” Seonghwa feels it again, the universe shifting to the side like a snowglobe shaken too abruptly. As Eden pulls them into the main room, it’s like entering a desert oasis only to be surrounded by dissipating mirages. One after one. 

The sound is the first thing that hits him. The desperate pleas to be released. To go home. To speak to literally anyone. And then, he sees them. Lit in a seafoam green corridor, plexiglass jail cells line the walkway; each one a glowing cerulean blue. From a distance, the content is impossible to decipher. 

“There are sacrifices to every search, Seonghwa, Jongho,” Eden says, twirling in front of one of the glass cases. “What are you willing to lend to the cause?”

“What cause?” Jongho chokes out, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. ‘ _It’s Jongho.’ ‘It takes a lot to overwhelm him.’_ Seonghwa had only just recently uttered those words to Yeosang. And yet, here they stood. The younger shaking like a leaf in a brewing storm and Seonghwa fighting back the urge to empty the contents of his stomach onto the icy marble beneath his fancy dress shoes. 

“Eternity, Mr. Choi,” Eden says, smiling in an almost dazed way. “What would you give to find your own treasure?” It’s then that one of the figures moves from within a nearby cell. In a second, Seonghwa is staring into the eyes of someone exhausted. Dark circles hold their place beneath the man’s eyes. His dark hair unwashed and unkept. It’s shockingly familiar, but he can’t decipher exactly how, until the healed scar of a bullet-wound is distinctly visible against the prisoner’s pale stomach. 

Before him, trapped within a crystalline glass enclosure, stands the one person he could never forget for even a moment. No matter how many timelines they shifted through or how many roles he had to adjust into, the man before him was tied to him for eternity. 

Himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Hello, loves! This chapter took a LOT longer than I wanted it to take! I had to rework a good bit of it. Halfway through, I started listening to Turn Back Time by WayV and a TON of IAMX stuff so that really...changed things.  
> Hope it isn't too wild. 
> 
> See you in a few days!
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @KyojinOuji  
> I always follow back and love new friends.
> 
> Cheers! ❀


	7. no turning back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❀ TW: Graphic Violence/Mentions of Death ❀

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Not proof-read or Beta-read so there are bound to be mistakes.  
> (Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ❀

[ _ “Kill the messenger and clear the cobwebs. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=ZyOfW9d6SrCGO32SvKsn6A)

[ _ Blame the victim; send attack dogs. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=ZyOfW9d6SrCGO32SvKsn6A)

[ _ Check the bottom line; drain the bathtub. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=ZyOfW9d6SrCGO32SvKsn6A)

[ _ Put your friends in it; burn the evidence. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=ZyOfW9d6SrCGO32SvKsn6A)

[ _ There’s no turning back– there’s no time.” _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=ZyOfW9d6SrCGO32SvKsn6A)

[ **_No Turning Back_ ** _ \- Koda _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=ZyOfW9d6SrCGO32SvKsn6A)

_ All it takes is a glance.  _ Within minutes, Jongho is ushering him out of the room, a look of pure terror erupting across his features. Eden, evidently not expecting the negative reaction, follows them wordlessly. Seonghwa hardly makes it through the first door when the finger-foods he munched on from the refreshment table find themselves splattered on the cold tile of the lab. Jongho kneels beside him, palms running up and down his back soothingly, as the black rubber soles of Eden’s dress shoes squeak across the floor. They appear in Seonghwa’s peripheral, daunting, and it takes everything he has not to lash out at the scientist. 

“You don’t like them?” Eden asks, cocking his head slightly. “I always thought you would be a man of science; like your father.” _ I am nothing like my father,  _ Seonghwa’s mind chants. “And what about you, Jongho? How do you feel about our audience?”

Jongho gazes back at the man, dark eyes burning with secluded rage. Within them, Seonghwa saw war. Violence. Fury. Rather than acting on his emotions, however, the youngest quickly restrains his expression. It falls into something stoic and cold. Whatever beast Jongho houses within his soul seems to have only just begun shifting beneath the frozen, icy surface of his heart. Seonghwa finds himself thanking the gods that they are on the same side. 

“I’m indifferent,” his fiance says, training his focus on Eden’s unwavering gaze. “Seems like a waste to keep them all locked up, don’t you think?” His voice is calm. Rock-hard and impossible to budge, yet, Seonghwa can hear the tension. The desire to bolt immediately. 

Eden smiles softly. With a tender grasp, he pulls a stray blonde wave from behind his ear and rolls it between his fingers mindlessly. Everything about the man is casual. So relaxed that the world around him doesn’t even seem to have an effect. “What else would we do with them?” Eden asks, quirking a slitted eyebrow. “Just let them dissipate into the simulation?” 

“This isn’t a simulation, you indignant asshole,” Jongho growls, “you’re fucking with something you don’t understand.” 

Eden laughs at that. It would be a beautiful sound, like crashing waves and rustling leaves in spring, but the noise startles Seonghwa. Without meaning to, the man curls in on himself again, groaning at the rolling ache in his empty stomach. Jongho’s ministrations against his back increase in pressure before finally pulling the older man to his chest. “And you’re so knowledgeable in the topic, little Choi?” Eden speaks without honorifics; completely forgoing respect. The man does not aim to please them in the slightest. Instead, his goal seems to be only to taunt them into aggression.

Seonghwa groans again, burying his face in the crook of Jongho’s neck. Anything to block out the blinding overhead lights of the basement. The younger hushes him soothingly, running a palm through his hair, and turns his focus back to the scientist. “Can’t you see he’s sick? Get us out of here, Eden,” Jongho commands, fire licking at his words. With a slight bow, Eden obliges.

The scientist takes his leave as soon as they approach the gala’s doors once more, mumbling something about an early morning. The moment his figure disappears from view, Seonghwa feels the man beside him go limp. Jongho slides down the brick wall that stands just before the entrance, letting go of Seonghwa’s waist, and collapses against the concrete sidewalk. 

“ _ What the fuck was that?”  _ He whispers, disbelief littering his tone like a twisted melody. “They were all you, Seonghwa. Every last one. If we went further, I don’t even know if we would be able to count them all.” He does not need to count though; not with Yeosang’s words ghosting his memory.

“One thousand and fifteen,” he says, sliding down to settle next to his fiance. “There were one thousand and fifteen versions of me.”

Jongho stares at him as though he has grown a second head. Seonghwa knows what he said though. He knows the number like a distant lullaby; a chant echoing through the recesses of his mind. “What did you do, count them?” The younger asks, a frown gracing his full lips. Seonghwa shakes his head, running his fingers through his dark hair with a heavy sigh. 

“Yeosang and Hongjoong have been through one thousand and fifteen universes. This is universe 1116, remember?” He buries his face into the space between his bent knees, staving off another round of nausea. Hongjoong’s smile flashes through his mind suddenly. A beacon. A prayer that he would be home soon, wrapped in the younger man’s loving arms, and sipping hot tea from that stupid mug. “Can we please go home?” 

Jongho hums quietly. Instead of telling the eldest ‘no’, instead of forcing him to be a proper fiance at their engagement gala, he pulls out his cellphone. Within seconds, San’s bright tone is mumbling something through the speaker. “We’re outside. Where are Mingi and Yunho?”

_ “Same place you left them, that lady from the energy drink company has Mingi cornered.”  _ Seonghwa can just barely make out the sentence. San’s laughter, however, is loud and clear.  _ She’s been trying to promote something that would wake anyone up, even after getting blasted with his sleeping powder.”  _ Shuffling drifts from the receiver just as Wooyoung’s voice emanates from it. 

_ “Where are you two?” _

“Outside, I just told San–”

_ “Hwa’s dad is looking for him. We told him that General Choi sent you with that blonde dude, but he seemed pissy.”  _ In the distance, Seonghwa watches the steady approach of a dark shadow. Closer it comes, a force in the pale moonlight and flickering cloud coverage. Seonghwa’s father, clad in a stormy expression, approaches like a ship on the sea. 

“Jongho,” Seonghwa whispers, trying to attract the other man’s attention before his father sees. “Jongho, tell them to get out here, but hang up.” The younger does not hear him, instead continuing his fury-induced tirade. 

“Seonghwa needs to go home, not sit pretty so his father can flaut him like a porcelain doll–” He stops suddenly, gaze landing on the still moving director. “Get out here,” he says finally, hanging up the call. How would they explain what they were doing outside; sitting on the stone floor, wrapped in the night’s chill, and far from the event that was dedicated to their ‘budding relationship’. It’s when Seonghwa’s panicked gaze locks onto Jongho’s that he realizes the man has a plan. “Kiss me,” the younger says, shifting his body until he is facing the other brunette. 

“What?”

“He hasn’t seen what we’re doing yet, just be quick,” Jongho mumbles closing his eyes. “Seriously, Seonghwa, you need to move fast.” With a gulp, the older presses forward carefully. Jongho smells like cinnamon candy and pine. It’s familiar, but also so wrong. It is not the sage and citrus that he adores. And it is not the delicate jasmine and honey that Jongho deserves. Their lips hardly brush by the time his father is standing just behind Jongho’s back. The man clears his throat expectantly, but when Seonghwa meets his gaze, he no longer seems as perturbed. 

“Sorry to interrupt you two,” Director Park says, his ever-present frown a little less icy than usual. “Might I ask where you’ve been?” 

Seonghwa sighs, still fighting the memory of Jongho’s lips ghosting against his own. Their phantom caress tingles the sensitive flesh in a way that he wants nothing more than to rid himself of. “I apologize. General Choi introduced us to Eden,” he responds, eyes narrowing. “He showed us the laboratory.” Even as he says them, he knows that the words sound empty. Dull like a well-used blade. He supposes, though, that it is the same dagger he has used against his father a hundred times before.

The director nods with the statement. For a second, he could look fatherly. Seonghwa knows well that he is the spitting image of the man. Broad-shoulders and a well-toned frame. Tall, but not enough so that he towers over others. _ ‘Intimidation should always blossom from your blood, Seonghwa. Your pedigree, _ ’ the man had told him once,  _ ‘your enemies should be able to see it in your eyes.’  _ Seonghwa wonders, for the briefest moment, if his father could ever hold warmth in his spirit. Or if it could ever spread to his gaze. Instead, he finds himself staring at the iceberg that could easily sink his drifting ship.

“And do you approve?” The director asks, fingers climbing into his trouser pocket to pull out a small watch; one that Seonghwa’s mother had purchased her husband as an anniversary gift. He never wore it. The device travelled from place to place, shoved into a bag or jacket, and only was acknowledged on occasion. It was probably the closest thing to affection that his parents had shown each other. 

Seonghwa cocks an eyebrow at the question. Before he can formulate an extended response, the sound of a glass door creaking open sounds behind them. From within the gala hall, San and the others emerge slowly. A single glance from Wooyoung sends a registered thought onto the man’s face. He knows that the conversation is tense, however rather than stop the interaction, he smiles lazily at the director. 

“Evening, Director Park,” he says, extending a hand in the CEO’s direction. “You’ve outdone yourself once again. The gala is a success.”

“Hello, boys,” the man says and accepts the handshake. “It would be more of a hit if my son and his fiance were actually present.”

“Sorry, sir,” Jongho mumbles, his fingers intertwining with Seonghwa’s. The eldest bites back the snarky comment that dances on the tip of his tongue.  _ Why apologize to a man who had never done so before? What has he ever done to earn your words? _ Jongho shoots him a look, as though his thoughts were being spoken aloud into the night air, and frowns. “It won’t happen again. However, I do believe it is time for us to go home.”

Director Park narrows his gaze. A slight pout maneuvering across his lips, he leans forward ever so slightly. It’s enough to get in the group’s space; breaking any sense of calm that could have been present. With a low tone, he asks, “And why is that, Mr. Choi?” Before Jongho can respond, Mingi is interrupting, an aggravated look hardly concealed beneath his upbeat voice. 

“While the gala is wonderful, Director Park,” he says, taking a step closer to the CEO, “you are most certainly  _ the worst fucking thing _ I’ve seen all night.” Seonghwa watches as the red head’s long fingers snap in front of his father’s nose. Glittering gold powder twinkles in the air like thousands of tiny stars, sticking to the man’s skin, as his body hits the pavement like a meteor. “Asshole.”

“Oh my god,” Wooyoung whispers, hand covering his mouth. “Did you just poppy-knock the CEO of Park Industries?” Wooyoung tries to get a closer look, but San tugs him back roughly. “Is he okay?”

Yunho, breaking from whatever shocked trance he fell into when his boyfriend dove off the deep end, only sighs in frustration. “He’ll be fine,” the tallest says, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “It’ll wear off in like an hour, but we’re in public.” The last statement hisses into the air and Yunho begins to usher the group quickly into the parking lot. “If someone sees us, we’re literally fucked. We need to go.”

By the time they reach San’s car, the silence is deafening. Heart thumping to an iridescent rhythm, Seonghwa can’t help the bubbling feeling that begins to build in his chest. Shoulders shaking silently, Wooyoung stares at him with wide eyes. Just as the younger’s palm is about to land on his back, Seonghwa bursts into loud laughter. “Hwa? Are you okay?”

Seonghwa doesn’t answer. Instead, he continues to guffaw, drawing the concern of the rest of the car. “ _ Shit _ ,” he utters, running a thumb beneath his eyes to catch the falling tears. For the first time in probably years, they’re not from the crippling feeling of loneliness or betrayal. They’re not from fear. They are pure, unfiltered happiness. “Did you hear the way he hit the ground?” He laughs, rolling his head against the fabric rest behind his skull. “It was like,” he mimics the sound, thwacking his palms together until they make a dull, squishy thud. 

Mingi grins at him from the nearby seat, obviously proud of his own actions. How could he not be? Within seconds, the red head knocked out one of the most powerful men in South Korea. Before he can say anything, though, Wooyoung is already groaning. The younger man slams his forehead on the dashboard of his boyfriend’s car.

“No one can wipe his memory, you guys! He’s going to know it was us.” 

“And I’ll deal with it when the situation comes up, Woo,” Seonghwa says, still breathing heavily. “Just...let me have this tonight, okay?” The plea draws Yunho’s eyebrows together tightly. Extending an arm, he loops it around the older’s shoulder carefully. Long fingers massage the tight muscle just behind Seonghwa’s shoulder blade, before finally, he asks the one question the brunette was dreading.

“Where did you guys go anyways?” 

Seonghwa feels the air leave the car within seconds. The icy chill that nips at his spine. The neon drip of terror that begins to pool in his stomach. He remembers the way that other man, the other him, did not plead like the others. Instead, he stood there, defiant and silent. He remembers being that other man, being driven towards perfection and only having just found it. His Garden of Eden. The term seems bitter now. Laced with the image of the scientist who led them far into the depths of a universe Seonghwa never wished to know existed beneath his own. 

Jongho, however, answers for him. It’s slow and calculated. “The basement; possibly lower. Park Industries isn’t trying to create a biological weapon.” He says, wincing as he runs a hand through his hair aggressively. “They’re trying to start a war with time itself.”

By the time they pull up outside of Hongjoong’s bookshop, San is already throwing the car in park. Seonghwa stops, frowning slightly, and cocks his head. “Are you planning on coming inside, then?” He asks. 

San nods, carefully removing the keys from the ignition. “I think we need to talk. All of us.” The ride had been spent with Jongho recounting the experience and Seonghwa struggling not to spit up bile, the only thing left in his stomach, onto San’s leather seats. At least they would be easy to clean. Instead of protesting, Seonghwa nods and unlocks the storefront with the key that Hongjoong had made for him. 

Within the last two weeks, they had been gradually moving Seonghwa’s things to the apartment. Not enough that the press or his father would grow suspicious, but just enough that the place had become his home. It always had been, really, with Hongjoong there. They had even joked with Jongho and Yeosang about renting the two apartments from the last universe, only to find that the building did not exist in this timeline. Here, it was not a sanctuary. Instead, it was a simple office space for insurance salesmen. The discovery led to Hongjoong’s blank expression and the quiet question of, _ ‘do immortals need insurance?’  _ It also earned him a hefty smack on the wrist from the immortal himself.

Even as the group travels up the shallow stairs, Seonghwa can’t get his otherself out of his mind. The man’s face ghosts in his memory, haunting the halls and passages in such a way that Seonghwa fears even trying to recall the past. Maybe, just maybe, the spirit could see the memories too. Maybe he could relive the happiness that came with his universe; just as a little distraction from the present. 

When the door opens, he slips off his shoes quietly, and toes into the space. The first thing he locks onto his Yeosang’s sleeping form, wrapped in a sweater too large for his frame and a soft blanket. The younger man is curled into a tight ball on the couch, eyes closed with thick lashes resting daintily against his skin, in such a tender way that he looks almost like a sleeping angel. Seonghwa cannot stop the rest of the group from cooing quietly as they enter the room. At the sound, the immortal stirs gently, but not before a flash of cherry red appears in Seonghwa’s peripheral.

Hongjoong stands in the doorway to his makeshift studio, chunky headphones hanging around his neck. His own hoodie sleeves are pushed to his forearms, showing off the intricate ink once again. In his hands, he cradles a small blue bowl filled with ramen. As soon as his stare locks onto Seonghwa’s apparently distraught expression, he is sprinting back into the office. 

“Did he just run away from you?” Mingi asks, hardly moving out of the apartment doorway. Before the others can respond, Hongjoong is bolting back into the room, ramen safely stashed on the desk, and wrapping his arms around Seonghwa’s middle. The scent of citrus and sage encompasses him easily. In the past, Hongjoong’s cologne was closer to lavender. Something delicate, but sultry. Absurdly, Seonghwa wonders if they don’t have the same brand in this timeline. 

Hongjoong speaks into his chest, warmth breath coming out in soft puffs, “I thought you were supposed to be home closer to two? It’s hardly even midnight.” The eldest does not process the salty tears that roll down his cheeks, leaving damp trails in the midst, until they are falling into Hongjoong’s hair like crystalline visions from the heavens. The younger pulls away from Seonghwa, eyes going wide, and reaches up until he is cradling Seongwa’s face with all the care of an ice sculptor. “Oh, baby, what happened?” 

His resolve crumples like bonfire ash in the autumn wind. Within seconds, the couple is sitting on the floor of their apartment, holding each other as though the world was going to deteriorate under them. In hushed tones, Seonghwa tells Hongjoong everything. He recalls the desperate cries of those in the plexiglass cases. The terror that he felt watching the puckered skin of 1115’s bullet wound move with his frame. He tells him about the way he did nothing but run away.

“I should have helped them,” Seonghwa whispers, fingers clenching Hongjoong’s hoodie tightly. “Why didn’t I help them?”

“Hwa, there wasn’t time. You don’t know the threats–”

“Does it matter?” He asks quietly, peeling his wet cheek away from Hongjoong’s neck. “Does it really matter if I knew the risks or not? A good person doesn’t leave people in cages–”

“A good person,” Hongjoong interrupts, eyes burning with an unusual look, “takes every possibility into account first. What would you do with them all? Where would you go?” He’s right. Hongjoong is always right. However, that doesn’t make him feel any better. Instead, he lets out a heavy sigh and burrows further into the embrace of the smaller man. 

Throughout the room, the others have begun to speak quietly amongst themselves. Even Yeosang, who half-sits-half-lays in Jongho’s lap, whispers with the group. By the time Hongjoong is able to finally navigate the eldest into the circle, the other six have already begun to strategize. For once, Seonghwa is glad to be uninvolved in leadership. Hongjoong, however, jumps into the conversation instantly. With a knowing look, he essentially excuses Seonghwa to wander the recesses of his own mind. To do anything that will bring him back down. And for that alone, Seonghwa loves him. 

“What can we even do? We’re just a ragtag group of idiots,” Yunho mumbles. Beside him, Mingi sighs against his shoulder, frown marking his usually positive face. “When it comes down to it, I’m scared that we would just end up making it worse for everyone involved. Unless…” Yunho drifts off, gaze falling onto San across the circle. 

San groans softly, mumbling, “I hate when you say ‘unless’ and then look right at me.” His salt and pepper hair falls over his eye as he gestures back at the other man. “Go on then. Do your worst.” Yunho laughs against all odds, but continues. 

“What if we broke in?”

“To Park Industries?” Hongjoong whispers, mouth falling open in shock. It’s a funny look on the confident red head’s face. Enough so, that Seonghwa finds himself shoving it into the back of his mind. For a better day, when memories are appreciated. “Why would we do that?”

“There has to be information stored somewhere.” The thought hits Seonghwa painfully. He has essentially lived in that building since childhood. Even before he worked there, once in a while his father brought him to work. Before the man spoiled like milk in the hot sun. Before he turned to ice. How long had he been living normally while others suffered in his wake? The idea rolls his stomach again, making his body tremble, just as Hongjoong wraps his arms around him once again. “Baby?” 

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa murmurs, “it’s possible to break in. I remember the floor code.” 

Jongho shakes his head as Seonghwa speaks. The younger meets his thousand yard stare with something sharp. “Hwa, there were so many keycard readers from the elevator to the door. There’s no way we could get through all of them–”

“Except for the fact that we can. Afterall, we have luck on our side,” Yunho grins.

It’s then that San gasps. Gesturing between himself and the other man, he nearly bounces out of his seat in excitement. “Is that why you were staring at me?” Yunho nods. “Oh my god, thank you for actually acknowledging my abilities. Some people,” he casts a sidelong glance in Wooyoung’s direction, “like to avoid them.”

“I just don’t think they’re fair, Sannie,” Wooyoung says, pinching his boyfriend’s cheeks. “Do you know how embarrassing it is that you manage to get the blue shell every time you’re losing miserably in Mario Kart? Or how you somehow conjured a ‘draw the whole deck’ card in Uno?” San whines, cheeks flushed from the contact, and rubs at the sore spots when Wooyoung’s fingers finally leave his face.

“It’s not my fault that five year-old Sanshine thought it would be helpful in the future.” He draws his attention back to the rest of the group. “I’m willing, you know,” he states, crossing his arms over his chest. “If it’s something that I can do to help others, I’m more than into the idea of overthrowing some capitalistic bastards with God complexes.”

Seonghwa laughs at the blatant distaste towards his father. It was something that he always knew the rest of the group had, but to have two of his closest friends outright insult the man over the course of the night was incredible. Warmth spreads in his chest, proud of the people he chose to bond himself to, and bobs his head in agreement. “Then, let’s do it. Let’s show my dad who he’s actually dealing with.”

Over the course of the week, Seonghwa spends every waking minute running through their plan. Even when a photo from the party surfaces across the internet of Jongho and Seonghwa’s brief kiss, the group hardly bats an eye. Instead, Hongjoong finds the image hilarious. Holding his phone screen out for his partner to see, he grins wickedly. 

“You look sick in this.”

“To be fair,” Seonghwa says, knocking the device out of the other’s grasp in favor of pinning the man to the couch cushions lovingly. “I was.” His lips brush Hongjoong’s softly, a butterfly’s wings in the spring breeze. The boy in his arms in the reason the plan has to work. It’s the hope that one day they can find somewhere stationary; where the world does not shift beneath their feet and they no longer have to run against the hands of time for just a moment of euphoria. Their garden. Utopia. 

Now, Seonghwa observes that Sunday nights tend to be the time that the building is the most clear. In the late hours, the employees have not been in the office since Friday. Those in the research branch were the only threat over the weekend, given that they rarely went home when they thought every experiment was the century’s most important scientific breakthrough. It was a fairly simplistic plan. 

The infiltration group would be Yunho, San, Mingi, and Seonghwa. Yunho’s speed and agility would give them the chance to move through the building quickly, limiting the chance of being noticed. Mingi, despite his pacifist nature, would be the major weapon in the case that someone saw them. If his actions against Director Park were enough to go by, the man was nowhere near the big baby that the world made him out to be in the tabloids. San’s luck would hopefully provide the upper hand; giving them the opportunity to do just one thing right in this world. For themselves and for others.

The others would be on standby over the earpieces that Yeosang had managed to construct with little effort at all. Hongjoong protested rather elegantly, with his legs thrown over Seonghwa’s lap and eyes brimming with tears, about not being included in the same group. “What if something goes wrong?” He whined. “What if I’m not there and we don’t get to say goodbye?” 

“Nothing will go wrong, Joong,” Seonghwa said into the man’s hair. “If it does, I hope you’ll still bring me flowers in the next universe?”

Sniffling, Hongjoong nodded carefully. Of course he would. 

Standing before the company building on a Sunday night is uncomfortable. It’s a timeless space that threatens to bury them easily if they linger for even a second’s ghost too long. Seonghwa pulls his keycard from deep within the recesses of his pocket, frowning as the black and gold plastic glimmers in the artificial lighting. It would be easy to track his swipes. He knows that sliding the card through the reader is going to send his father a notification. Earlier in the week, he had asked for Monday off, claiming that he and Jongho would be scoping out wedding venues. As far as his father knew, they were a happy couple who couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. Bound together by having their hearts broken by the same man. Star-crossed lovers. 

All of the bullshit that anyone could manifest into their lives, their cover was able to protect them, even if only slightly. And in the case that it is unable to do so, they managed to come up with the excuse that he forgot a folder of fiscal data on his desk. It would peak his father’s interest as he would assume that Seonghwa was devoted to whatever project he was currently assigned and he would not even argue against the reasoning. Despite the fact that it was 10pm. 

As the scanner flashes green, a beep emanating from the small box, the door clicks open. Releasing a breath he did not know he was holding, Seonghwa glances over his shoulder to motion the rest of the group forward. A glance upward, however, showed the all-seeing black eye of the video system above them. The security cameras would pick them up, he knew that much, but once inside Yeosang’s voice crackles over the small speakers in their ears. _“You have exactly thirty-six minutes to get in and get out.”_

“What?” Seonghwa whispers, closing the door firmly behind him. “Why do we–”

_“I cut the stream,”_ the immortal says, the smirk evident in just his tone. _“They already sent out a repair team, but there’s a traffic buildup on the eastbound highway. They’re thirty-six minutes out, at least, but you need to get out of there before they arrive.”_

“Yeosang?” Seonghwa mumbles, hoping the other is still in audio-shot. When a soft ‘yeah’ comes back to him, Seonghwa glances at the rest of the team. Each one a soul he has the responsibility of protecting. Of securing a future for. “Thank you,” he says, guiding the other three through the lobby slowly. Yeosang mutters something too quiet for him to hear before the feed disappears. 

The four pairs of boots echo down the hallway; a resonant cacophony of rubber and linoleum. With every push forward, there is the chance for things to go awry. For the timeline to come to an abrupt end. It’s only when Seonghwa catches San’s wary eye that he realizes, no matter how hard things got, they would all have each other. San smiles warmly and offers him a gentle wave, just as Mingi calls the elevator to their floor. In his bright tone, San says, “No matter what happens, we can say that we tried.” 

“Tried and succeeded,” Yunho adds, a wide grin gracing his face as well. “We’re getting out of here with what we need.” Beside him, Mingi intertwines their fingers. “Together; eight makes one team.” The elevator signals its arrival just as the words come out of his mouth.  _ Together _ .

As they step inside the lift, Seonghwa stares at the buttons as though they have never been there before. The code, however, seems to be scrawled forever into his memory. A searing reminder of the day he ran away. Carefully, he dials the number, ‘1-0-2-4’, and jolts when the metal box shifts.  _ It worked.  _ San makes a quiet, startled, noise and leans against the back wall. 

“Step one, done,” he says into the earpiece. 

_“Good,”_ this time, the voice belongs to Hongjoong. _“You guys only lost about five minutes, so you’re nearing the half-hour mark. Do not stop for anything. Just get the information and go, Hwa.”_

Seonghwa hums, the elevator drumming to a sudden stop. “Hey, Joong?” 

_“Yeah?”_

“I love you.” 

Hongjoong’s laugh is honey-sweet as he processes Seonghwa’s words. _“I love you too, angelwing.”_ The metal doors slide open just as the other three in the elevator mock-gag. It draws another laugh from the radio-bound couple as Mingi whisper-yells something about PDA and needing a room. 

With a deep breath, they step over the threshold of the elevator, stumbling into the same, artificial light that Eden drew them into before. The immediate memory of the stinging focus from the scientist’s gaze comes to mind. He was not a person in that man’s eyes. He was a specimen to be observed and recorded. His reactions were meant to be gauged along with Jongho’s. And when this universe was said and done, who was to say that this body would not be in a similar plexiglass case. The idea sends a shiver down his spine. 

Wordlessly, San holds out a hand as they face the pass scanner. Seonghwa passes his keycard to the younger man, quiet prayer repeating in his mind that the doors open. As the black plastic passes through the reader, the small, beady light glows a brilliant green. It is everything he can do not to shout in joy as the metal door clicks open. The second passes over just as quickly. 

It’s only when they reach the third and final barrier, that a bizarre look crosses over San’s face. Before interacting with the black box, he shoots a wide-eyed glance in Seonghwa’s direction. “What if it doesn’t work? What if we’re trapped here, between the doors, like rats?” The thought hadn’t even crossed Seonghwa’s mind. Instead of entertaining it, though, he dismisses it quickly. 

“We won’t be,” he says, not sure if he believes it himself. However, his voice does not waver. “We’ll get home one way or another.” It pulls a quiet chuckle out of San, finally. The sound is beautiful. 

“Good, I think Wooyoung would kill me himself if I miss an episode of that survival show he’s been watching.”

Mingi interrupts, running a hand through his hair, “We’ll be a survival show of our own if we don’t hurry up, bud.” Yunho swats at his boyfriend’s shoulder with a sigh. “I’m just saying! I don’t want to see what happens if we don’t get out of here.” As Mingi speaks, San takes the plunge and slides the key through the reader. For a brief second, the light does not turn on. Instead, the bulb remains a deathless black. Immediately, Seonghwa’s heart catches in his throat.  _ They fucked up. Everything is over. _

It’s then that the green glow sparks like a burning ember and the door’s latch pops up. _ They did it.  _ But it’s no cause to celebrate yet. Not when the game was only just beginning. As he ushers them inside, he mutters the same rules they had decided on earlier that week. “Don’t look at them. Don’t speak to them. Keep your head down and face obscured,” he says, remembering the way Yunho’s head cocked at the first meeting. 

_ “Why?” _ He had asked, a frown drizzling down his features.  _ “They’re you. You would never hurt us.” _

_ “They’re me,” _ Seonghwa had said, breathing shallow,  _ “that’s why I’m telling you to listen to what I’m saying.” _

It’s when they enter the room that he immediately knows things are not going to be as clean-cut as he had hoped. Towards the back of the room, a workstation has been set up. The desk is covered with hundreds of scattered files and papers, enough that it’s impossible to tell how many of them are truly there. Or if it is even a desk at all. The thing that draws his attention, however, is the black desktop monitor that Jongho specifically instructed them to go for. 

_ “There’s a computer in the back, just through the first row of cells. If anywhere is going to have information, try that first,”  _ the youngest had said, fidgeting with the various metal rings on his fingers. _ “I only noticed it when Eden was rambling about treasure.” _

“There,” Seonghwa says, pointing towards the computer. “We need to get back there, but remember–” 

“We know, Mom,” San says, shoulders back and head high, “follow the leader.” It’s only when San begins to walk through the rows that his confidence starts to waver. Seonghwa watches his frame begin to shake violently, passing the terrible screams of the carbon-copies. He does not seem to glance at them. He doesn’t even stop. Instead, San begins to sob as his palm covers his eyes. Blindly, he makes his way through the room. The other two have similar reactions. 

Mingi’s long fingers are intertwined with Yunho’s. Their grasp is white-knuckled and load bearing. Every inch of Yunho’s face has grown scarlet, eyes teary, as he squeezes them shut. Mingi, however, breathes heavily. His gaze is trained on his toes and he follows in a straight line. By the time they reach the end of the glass cages, hot tears roll down his cheeks and his lip bubbles with blood from his constant gnawing. But they made it. 

“Breathe,” Seonghwa whispers softly. His own hands tremble miserably. However, he knows that this time, he cannot break down. Not with so much at risk. Instead, he gives the others time to adjust as the background noise fades into what could be morbid, dull static. “Sannie, I need you to plug this in.” He passes over the thumb drive as San finally pulls his face away from his hands. 

As soon as they uncover the mouse and keyboard, Seonghwa is met with the log in screen of the desktop. “ _ Shit _ ,” he whispers. They forgot there would be a password.  _ They didn’t prepare for something as simple as a fucking password.  _ However, San mumbles something under his breath and sends Mingi into an immediate frenzy. The man’s fingers fly across the keys, face still damp, and hit enter. The computer makes a dinging sound, when suddenly, the log-in registers as successful. 

“What did you type?” Yunho asks, disbelief radiating from his tone. 

Proudly, Mingi says, “M-A-D-D-O-X.” It’s a second before San is laughing loudly, eyes swollen, and hands wrapped tightly over his midsection. Mingi stares back, confusion lacing his features. “You told us to type MADDOX.” 

“No,” San says, wiping beneath his eyes. “I told you to type PARADOX, but somehow you still got it right.” Carefully, San slides the drive into the USB port and begins to snoop through the files. Nothing is labelled and the desktop is an absolute disaster, but they don’t have time to look through every last thing. “Damn it, we can’t take everything,” he mumbles, throwing open folder after folder. “Do these bastards know how to organise a single thing.”

Under his breath, Yunho whispers, “I mean, these cases are in nice n’ tidy lines, so that probably counts for something.” 

Finally, a folder pops up with a familiar title. “Star 1117” is written beneath the blue rectangle like a glowing beacon. Seonghwa points at it enthusiastically. “That one,” he says, watching San pull it into the drive drop-bin. “I don’t know why, but take that one and everything surrounding it.” As the files begin to transfer, he reactivates his ear piece. “I need a time estimate.” 

Yeosang’s response crackles over the speaker. _“You have approximately fifteen minutes, so you need to start back,”_ before the line ends, Hongjoong mumbles something to Yeosang who relays the message, _“Joong says out of everyone, you can’t speak to the otherselves at all. He doesn’t know what it could do with the timeline.”_

As the line dies again, Seonghwa watches San remove the drive again. “Is it done?” He asks. San nods, shoving the flash drive into his pocket. “Good, let’s get out of here.” They take the extra precaution to close out of all systems and restore the desk to the way it was before they came in before retreating. The second time down the line, the volume seems to have stalled entirely. While the group suffers from the simple idea of their surroundings, they manage to make it to the homestretch before the world begins to tumble down around them. 

All it takes is a glance in Seonghwa 1115’s direction. A glance and a knowing stare returned in his direction. A glance and the word, ‘run’, mouthed silently through the glass. A glance and San’s deafening scream. Seonghwa’s focus is drawn to where the magic user is staring, only to find the obviously disfigured form of Seonghwa. 

This one’s body has been mangled beyond recognition. And yet, he still breathes laboriously. The poor bastard is alive against all odds. Enough so, that the sight makes his stomach roll violently. San covers his mouth, obviously fighting the nausea that coats him. “ _ Fuck,” _ Mingi whispers, closing his eyes. “Oh god.”

“Go,” Seonghwa chants, frantically motioning towards the door. “Go, go, go.” It’s a mantra. A terrified song for the wayward travellers that they have become. He knows that every time he closes his eyes, he’ll see that horrible vision of himself. But for now, they just need to get home. 

The other three obey; charging through each door and calling the elevator in record time. They’re home free until Yeosang’s voice comes over the ear piece. _“Where are you guys?”_

“The elevator,” San sobs, kneeling on the moving floor like it is his only tie to existence. “We’re getting out.” 

Yeosang sucks in a sharp breath. _“As soon as you hit the ground floor, I need you to run to the back exit.” The command is icy. “Turns out, traffic was a little better than we thought. The repair team is pulling up now.”_

San groans quietly. “My luck must have run out. This is my fault.”

“Shit,” Yunho whispers. “Sannie, it’s thanks to you we even made it this far. Now, it’s time for Mingi and I to take over.” As they step out of the elevator, the coast is clear. However, the moment their boots begin to echo once more on the linoleum tile of the lobby, five distant figures round the corner. With a grin, Yunho faces his boyfriend. “Think we can take five guys at once?”

Mingi chuckles, rubbing his hands together mischievously. “It’s always been a dream of mine, you know.” And with that, the two are sprinting towards the repair men quickly. All it takes is Yunho using his athletic abilities, supported by his Asparagaceae linage, and Mingi coating them in a dusting of golden powder, for the room to fall silent again. 

“Remind me never to agree to do anything with those two,” San sniffles, his usual humor flickering like a flame in the wind. 

Despite the situation, Seonghwa finds himself laughing with full-bodied emotion. “You think Wooyoung would ever be alright with that?” The younger side-eyes him with a raised eyebrow.  _ Oh _ . 

“What would you say if I told you it was one of Wooyoung’s wet d–”

Seonghwa screeches, covering his ears childishly. “I would ask you to stop talking!” San laughs as the older man tears off across the lobby. “Let’s go.” 

Arriving at the bookshop, once again, the group finds the other four sitting around the coffee table anxiously. Hongjoong’s laptop is already positioned in the center, ready to receive the thumb drive’s data, but that does not stop the smaller man from pulling Seonghwa into his arms. Citrus and sage. As the man presses a soft kiss to both of his cheeks and, finally, his lips, he hardly speaks. Instead, it’s a whispered mantra that leaves his mouth. 

“Welcome home.”

But after they transfer the files from the drive onto the small computer and click the file titled “Star 1117”, the screen flickers off. In the pitch black, eight shocked expressions are reflected back at them. It’s only then that the screen turns a deep violent. At first, the image of a full moon appears before them. And then, within seconds, it is fading away to reveal a violently flipping hourglass cast against the backdrop of a broken compass. As the hourglass completes its final revolution, the compass also appears to land on the answer it was searching for.

Beneath the needle appears the simple phrase, “try again.”

“ _ Fuck _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Hello, loves!
> 
> All I can say is: Sorry this is massive.  
> Oof.
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @KyojinOuji  
> I always follow back and love new friends.
> 
> Cheers and see you all on the other side! ❀


	8. Yesterday's Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❀ TW: Graphic Violence/Death, Kidnapping ❀

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Not proof-read or Beta-read so there are bound to be mistakes.  
> (Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ❀

> [ _ “I'm swimming for the shore  _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=L3i1C0enRSihe62UE0osWQ)
> 
> [ _ to flee the future of my world. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=L3i1C0enRSihe62UE0osWQ)
> 
> [ _ It's a bloody moon, it's a dirty earth. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=L3i1C0enRSihe62UE0osWQ)
> 
> [ _ We found our way to the end of youth. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=L3i1C0enRSihe62UE0osWQ)
> 
> [ _ It's a whispered voice now piercing through. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=L3i1C0enRSihe62UE0osWQ)
> 
> [ _ It's a brighter wound.” _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=L3i1C0enRSihe62UE0osWQ)
> 
> [ **_Yesterday’s Wake -_ ** _ Son Lux _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=L3i1C0enRSihe62UE0osWQ)
> 
> * * *

“It’s a virus,” Hongjoong gasps, scrambling to pull the thumb drive from the USB port. “We just installed a Trojan right into my damn laptop.” As he attempts to unlatch the device from the computer, Yeosang quickly lays a hand over his frantic fingers. Hongjoong, stilling almost instantly, stares back at him with wide, panicked eyes.

Yeosang shakes his head softly. “Don’t remove it, you might cause more damage.” Gently, Yeosang pushes the red head away from the laptop and into Seonghwa’s lap. “I want to see if I can do something,” he says, settling over the keys. “I just...something is telling me that we need to dig a little deeper.” 

Jongho sighs from his perch on the couch, eyes narrowing significantly. “Dig a little deeper? Sang, it looks like it’s at the end of its life. I don’t think there is much deeper.” Hongjoong, a pout crossing his lips, whines quietly. Around his waist, Seonghwa’s arms restrain him from skittering back to the PC. No matter the universe, his lover could not be kept from his passion. The mixing systems that constantly drove the computer’s fans into a hot whir. The sound of electronic beats that pumped from the speakers. Music was Hongjoong’s lifeblood; the rhythm of his soul.

Yeosang’s fingers, however, fly quickly. Using the cursor, he gives the compass needle a sharp tug once and then twice in a counterclockwise motion. It is only then that the image’s details dissolve into the golden face of an analog clock. Squinting, Yeosang grabs the hour hand, pulling it around and around until, finally, the screen is cast with a mint overlay. In the direct center, a pop-up surfaces.

‘ _ Insert password to proceed.’  _ Without a second thought, Yeosang’s soft touch dances along the keys like fireflies on the midnight sea. Into the blank space, he types, “C-R-E-S-C-E-N-T-1-0-2-4”. The laptop stalls for a moment, processing the code, before glittering with a glimmering green. Easily, the pop-up falls away, revealing the regular screen of Hongjoong’s laptop. However, now, the file folder is filled with information that has suddenly become accessible. 

“How did you–” 

“It was a smokescreen. Whoever laid it meant for it to scare us, but not hurt us. It was obvious from the background,” he says, shaking his head so that his blonde strands flip around him like a delicate, restrained tornado. “Even though the full moon disappeared, there was a crescent still in the background. The hourglass, I’m assuming, is a representation of resetting timelines.” With a frown, he casts a look in Seonghwa’s direction. “And 1024 is the elevator code for the lab, right? There’s obviously no floor with that number, but I knew it was familiar. It was on the time I pulled the clock hands to, so I figured that was it, until I remembered,” he pauses, changing his focus to Hongjoong. “October 24th was the day we reset the first universe.”

Hongjoong gasps quietly, his eyes wide, and nods with Yeosang. “You’re right. Why would Park Industries know that, though?” His gaze slides to Seonghwa, a downward pull lacing his lips. The eldest watches as his lover seems to sort through a hundred different thoughts. Without speaking, he looks at Seonghwa as though asking, _ ‘Do you pick the red pill or the blue pill? The truth or the escape?’ _

Seonghwa tilts his head just enough to signal his frame of mind. He is willing to learn. Willing to understand the memories that only wisp around the darkest corners of his mind; waiting to be roped into reality once more. He feels them. Always singing, pleading, to be drawn forth. So, Seonghwa speaks. Quietly, at first, but building confidence.

“I’ll talk to my father,” he says, observing the way Jongho’s mouth pops into a small ‘o’ from across the circle. “I’ll pretend that I want to know. That I’m on board with whatever twisted game he’s playing.” Beside him, Hongjoong’s body goes rigid. 

“Hwa, I–” 

“It’s fine,” The eldest says, a gentle smile gracing his features. Carefully, he drags a thumb along the curve of the red head’s jaw. “We deserve to figure it out, don’t we?” He then squints at Yeosang, whose delicate form is tightly curled around his bent knees as he sits before the laptop. “Let’s open some of those damn files. It took enough to get them.”

The immortal complies. Slowly, he hesitates as the cursor hovers above the first document. None of the pieces within have been labeled with anything aside from numbers. With a click, the screen fills with a 3-page typed document. It’s black and white visuals blind the group. Blocks of text are almost impossible to read thoroughly, tension high. The top of the document is titled, “STAR 1117”, in the same fashion as the primary folder, and immediately San draws in a breath from behind them.

“Why are they so fucking obsessed with numbers?” He says it with all of the sincerity of a convicted criminal. Serious. Withdrawn. However, the delivery is what draws an immediate guffaw from both Mingi and Yunho. “What?” San asks loudly. “For real, you guys, have you seen–”

“Yes, Sannie,” Yeosang says, pushing a finger to his lips. “We’ve seen how many times they’ve used weird ass numbers, but please, let me skim.” San pouts as Yeosang speaks, but breaks into a small smile nonetheless. Yeosang scrolls until he keys in to a particular block. 

Wooyoung pushes forward until his arms are slung over Yeosang’s shoulders, reading along. At the same time, both make a quiet noise of surprise when they appear to reach the halfway point. Wooyoung pulls back sharply, covering his mouth in shock. “What the fuck?” He whispers, the question muffled by the barrier. “What does that even mean?”

“What?” The room asks at once, ice falling down each person’s spin like a bitter waterfall. It’s a beat of silence as they all scoot in closer to the device. Yeosang reads from the page robotically, his own eyes blown out of proportion,

“ _ OCTOBER 24, XXXX. Subject 0001 was found to be unresponsive upon arrival. Aggressor pursued. One casualty was located at the scene; KM. Vitals were faint upon arrival. M.O.D: Altercation between Subject 0001, KM, CJ. RESET: Enabled. Subject secured. _ ”

“What happened during the first timeline?” Seonghwa mutters, heart racing a track deep within his chest. “How did I die?” Next to him, Hongjoong shivers visibly. Tenderly, the eldest pulls him against his shoulder, but repeats the question. “Please, guys, how did I die?”

“We don’t know,” Yeosang says quietly. “We got there too late. You were already unconscious by the time we managed to get to you and your vitals dropped so quickly that we didn’t have time to ask questions.”

“I wasn’t the casualty they listed?” Hongjoong’s hair tickles his chin and neck as he shakes his head. Neither seems to be willing to answer, however, and the experience feels like they’re pulling each other’s teeth. “Who was it?  _ Please _ .”

Hongjoong shudders, pushing off of his shoulder until their eyes meet. “His name was Kim Maddox. He was one of your dad’s employees and one of the producers I worked with in the first timeline. We were best friends and we fucking trusted him, but–” The name lights recognition in the eyes of San, Mingi, Yunho, and Seonghwa collectively. It’s as though everything clicks into place with a snap.

“He betrayed us, Seonghwa,” Yeosang says, “Before everything happened, before we found out that we could reset everything, he tricked us into giving him information.”

“Information about what exactly?”

“Hongjoong’s abilities. He sold us out to the public, telling them that the Pinaceae line was still alive and well. He basically offered Joong up on a silver platter to the research committees. But before anything could happen, there was a fight. You, Maddox, and Jongho’s dad were all found at the scene. General Choi had been marked up pretty bad by the same blade that killed Maddox. We think...” he pauses staring at his hands. Hongjoong takes over quickly, his skin pale. 

“No, we know that Maddox tried to attack you so that you wouldn’t be able to protect me from the shit he caused. General Choi said that he found you two right before you fell unconscious. He pulled Maddox off of you, but was injured in the struggle. He said that Maddox took one look at all of the blood and what he had done to you before killing himself. We got there too late along with Maddox’s husband Eden–”

“Eden?” Seonghwa whispers, grasp on Hongjoong tightening. “Did you say Eden?” The name is bitter on his tongue. Acid and dripping with neon green toxicity. Hongjoong, eyes lit with silent questions, nods carefully. “Eden is the name of the scientist in charge of ‘Star 1117’.”

Yeosang draws in a sharp breath. “You’re shitting me,” he mumbles, “are you serious?” 

Jongho instead nods, his lips drawn into a sharp frown. “He’s the one who showed us the lab the night of the gala. I swear that we mentioned him.”

Hongjoong sighs, running his fingers through his hair messily. “No, you just called him ‘ _ the scientist _ ’ and ‘ _ raging bastard _ ’. Damn, this really makes sense.” He slides out of Seonghwa’s grasp long enough to stand. Step by step, he wanders to the balcony door and cracks it open, allowing the cool night air to pool into the space. It’s a welcome release. A reminder that outside this room, the world still flickers like candle light and rages like the sea. “Eden is immortal.”

Suddenly, everything jolts as though the snowglobe they seem to live in has been given a hefty shake. The familiarity. The knowing gaze. The ability to orchestrate a project as large as whatever ‘Star 1117’ appears to be and hand it off to the company that would target Seonghwa and Hongjoong. The people who were directly related to his husband’s death. With a gasp, Mingi pushes the heels of his palms against his eyelids. 

“He killed Seonghwa,” the red head mumbles, finally staring at the rest of the group. _ “In the last timeline, he killed Hwa.”  _ The news catches both Hongjoong and Yeosang off guard; alongside everyone else. “My last memory is from after the showcase. We tried to find you both because Hongjoong forgot his wallet in the sound room. The moment I saw you, though, Eden was already there with a gun. He was in the alley next to the stand you guys were sitting by. Shit,” Mingi says, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. “I saw it happen. I saw you fucking die.”

“I don’t remember,” Yunho whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut. “I was there, I know that much, but I don’t remember seeing Eden. Or seeing you get shot. I just remember the sound of a gunshot and the reset.”

Hongjoong buries his face in his hands, stumbling back to the circle, and slams himself into Seonghwa’s lap. “I didn’t wait long enough to find out who killed you. I panicked,” he says with a sniffle. “This could have all been avoided if I had just stayed calm–”

“Stayed calm?” Wooyoung says, waving exaggeratedly. “Who can stay calm after watching their lover get shot?” It shouldn’t draw an awkward laugh out of the group, but it does. It’s like shattering glass followed by the relief of watching the shards get wrapped up in thick newspaper. Tightly bound and unable to hurt anyone ever again. 

“If I just–”

“Nope,” Yunho says, still rubbing circles in his boyfriend’s shoulder blades. “Huh-uh, you couldn’t have known, Hongjoong.” The tallest shuts down any and all self-deprecation that Hongjoong tries to utter with only a few words. “You have done everything you can and so much more to get everyone out of this mess. The last thing I’m going to let you do, however, is blame yourself for not  _ doing enough _ .”

From his position tucked into Yunho’s arms, Mingi adds a muffled, “It’s our turn to do that now. You have us this time.”

Yeosang, fingers repositioned over the laptop’s trackpad, makes a soft noise. Attention falls onto him easily, just as a digital newspaper article comes into view. Seonghwa’s face stares back at them, dark eyes sunken and wide, as the title becomes glaringly clear. ‘ _ Park Industries Heir Found Mutilated Following 3-Month Long Kidnapping Search. _ ’ Next to him, San gags as the memory of the hardly-breathing corpse comes to mind. Yunho, within seconds, is on the balcony. He vomits over the edge before curling up against the door. 

“Turn it off,” Wooyoung struggles to say, covering his eyes. Seonghwa knows there is no picture of the actual corpse. No proof of the brutal ending. No evidence that he went through the experience. But his spirit remembers. It remembers the ropes that bound him and the thick, cloth gag that chafed at the corners of his lips. It remembers the sharp ridges of his wrists and the constant visual of nearly every one of his bones. It remembers, even if he does not. Still, Wooyoung repeats himself with a broken plea, “Sangie, off.”

Yeosang complies, gaze settled on the keyboard rather than any human being. Jongho, carefully, lays a hand on his shoulder with a breath. It’s a soft motion. Even as Seonghwa wraps his arms around the form in his lap, he knows that everything around them is delicate. Fragile. Begging not to be lost to time again. 

“There are 1115 more,” Yeosang says, “article after article of your death in every universe. Please don’t look at them. They’re not worth putting yourself through the pain, Hwa.”

“I want to,” Seonghwa whispers, “I need to know.”

“Hwa–” Hongjoong is cut off.

“I  _ deserve _ to know, my love. If there are people in this room that know what happened to me, while I still haven’t the slightest clue, then I think I should be given the same opportunity.” Hongjoong doesn’t respond. Instead, he stands from Seonghwa’s lap with a broken sob and moves to his bedroom wordlessly. The door closes with a quiet click; followed by the lock falling into place. 

It’s Yeosang that finally speaks as silence settles too heavily over the group. “We’ve talked about telling you before, Hwa. Please don’t think badly of him. It’s just…” His words fade softly into the air around them as he thinks of his next route. “He’s always been apprehensive. Normal people don’t get to know how they die. There isn’t a special looking glass that lets others see into the future, or the past, and frankly, he just wants you to live normally.”

“We stopped having that opportunity the moment my family decided to play God,” Seonghwa bites back, not meaning the sharp edges that come with the statement. “Normal hasn’t been possible since the war.”

“I mean normal for the hell hole this world has become,” Yeosang snarks, eyes not breaking from Seonghwa’s. “He loves you and wants you to be fucking happy, so why are you going to betray his wishes like that? Don’t you understand that you’re the only person here who knows what death feels like? Why would he want you to remember that?” The blond stands up from his spot, tugging Jongho with him, and faces Seonghwa with an exaggerated grunt. “I’m staying at Jongho’s tonight. Tell Hongjoong not to set up the couch for me.” And with that, the two disappear from the apartment within mere moments. 

After quiet conversation, the other four follow suit. While they all appear to be on Seonghwa’s side, he can’t fight the acidic taste that pools on his tongue when he opens three more files. With each one, he begins to understand what Hongjoong protected him from.  _ A company fire; C.OD smoke inhalation. Car accident; C.O.D impact. Assassination; C.O.D gunshot.  _

The laptop snaps shut. 

By the time he works up the courage to wander to Hongjoong’s closed door, he can no longer remember the faces that he had seen on the screen. Each had their own subtle differences, the way time had weighed on them in alternative ways. None of them were quite the same. And yet, he stopped seeing himself in any of them entirely. Instead, they were strangers that tragedy struck over and over. As his knuckles touch the wooden surface of the bedroom door, he can’t help but wonder how noticeable those differences are for Hongjoong. If the skin that he runs his thumbs down feels the same as the man before him. If the pain is there from a difference in the way they loved. He wonders how Hongjoong has done the same thing one thousand times and not fallen victim to his own mind. It’s then that the man opens the door slowly. 

He stares back at him, eyes swollen and face blank, as he whispers, “I thought you left.”

“Why would I leave?” Hongjoong shrugs as Seonghwa’s voice echoes. “I’ve told you, I’m never leaving you.”

“I was rude,” Hongjoong says, arms wrapping around himself like vines. “You’re right, you should be able to look at the articles. It’s your life that I keep fucking with.”

“No,” Seonghwa says, finally reaching out to pull the other close. “It’s never your fault. You were right. No one else gets to see how they died. Why should I?” Hongjoong’s body goes nearly limp in his embrace. The man cries quietly, pulling on Seonghwa’s shirt until it runs damp. “I read three others. You were doing it to protect me.”

Hongjoong nods. “I do everything to protect you, Hwa. You’re my everything. The only thing I have.” And Seonghwa knows. Even as time begins to tick far into the night. Even as he knows that they will still wake up next to each other in the morning. He calms Hongjoong with whispered words and soft caresses that turn into something more. 

It is not a night of passion for the sake of pleasure. It is not the chasing of something obtainable. It is the careful walk along a meadow of delicate flowers; those that even the softest breath could send their petals fluttering. It is a night of love, truth, and purity. They dance between the sheets with only the moonlight and all her stars to bear witness to. They map constellations on each other’s skin in the form of dainty, sensitive bruises and red marks. Time is a finicky thing, but for tonight, they could use that to their advantage. Before tomorrow chose to shine down upon them, to taint their minds with whatever it chose to carry, they could be themselves; they could be each other. And for tonight, they would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Hello, loves!
> 
> Sorry for the short chapter. They'll be a lot longer over the next few updates, so I wanted to give everyone a little breathing room after that last chonky boi.
> 
> See you in a few days!
> 
> Find me on Twitter: @KyojinOuji  
> I always follow back and love new friends.
> 
> Cheers! ❀


	9. Taking You There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Not proof-read or Beta-read so there are bound to be mistakes.  
> (Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ❀

> [ _ “If I lose my way and forget what I need, _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=zPP8_LktRk25GhafO_6fCA)
> 
> [ _ Just remind me now of what you give to me. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=zPP8_LktRk25GhafO_6fCA)
> 
> [ _ If you hold my hand and take me where you go, _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=zPP8_LktRk25GhafO_6fCA)
> 
> [ _ I'll show you the side that no one knows. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=zPP8_LktRk25GhafO_6fCA)
> 
> [ _ I'm taking you there. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=zPP8_LktRk25GhafO_6fCA)
> 
> [ _ If scars are for the living, _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=zPP8_LktRk25GhafO_6fCA)
> 
> [ _ Then I could be forgiven. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=zPP8_LktRk25GhafO_6fCA)
> 
> [ _ And everything you need, _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=zPP8_LktRk25GhafO_6fCA)
> 
> [ _ I could give you.” _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=zPP8_LktRk25GhafO_6fCA)
> 
> [ **_Taking You There_ ** _ \- Broods _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=zPP8_LktRk25GhafO_6fCA)
> 
> * * *

The morning light spins truth onto Hongjoong’s delicate beauty. It casts him in the ethereal glow that Seonghwa had come to love time and time again; the infinite sharp edges and the soft curves. He knows the taste of his collarbones and the embrace of his soul. He would spend a million lives with the man whose sheets pooled around them like the open sea. Even as the red head rolls onto his side, cracking a single amber eye open, and levels his gaze. His lip twitches upward as he stretches like a cat; hands interlaced and reaching far above his head.

“You’re staring,” he purrs, bringing his arms down just enough to rest his chin on his bent elbow. He glances to the digital clock on the nightstand with a frown. “I hope you haven’t been awake for hours. That would be weird, Hwa.”

With a chuckle, Seonghwa’s outstretched embrace snags the smaller man easily. Carefully, he pulls the other to his chest until their bare skin meets. “If you don’t want me to stare,” he murmurs into Hongjoong’s hair, “stop being so pretty.” The younger giggles and squirms in his arms. “It’s only been ten minutes, but thank you for the concern regarding my normalcy.” Hongjoong hums into his shoulder; smile warm against the flesh.

“You’ve always been annoyingly sweet in the morning, you big softy.” With a roll, Hongjoong dislodges himself from Seonghwa’s grasp. “I’m hungry, do you want breakfast?” The question breathes into the atmosphere as though it takes on its own life while doing so. It’s such a domestic phrase, casual even, despite the situation around them. 

Seonghwa does not dwell on the way it settles oddly in his chest. Instead, he nods, accepting the easy distraction from the madness. If even for just a little bit, things could be ordinary. There could be a world where they were not racing against the constant drumbeat of time. Breakfast, as simple as it was, could be that moment of peace. 

Hongjoong hums again and meanders to his tall dresser. From the depths, he pulls out a pair of much-too-long black sweatpants and drags them over his waist until they rest loosely against the ‘v’ of his hips. The fabric pools around his feet like small ponds of black ink and the moment he turns around, they drag softly against the carpet. His focus lands on Seonghwa’s gaze, and with a laugh, he quirks up a single eyebrow. “Like what you see, babe?”

“Always,” Seonghwa breathes. “I don’t think there will be a day where I’m not in love with your ass.” Hongjoong squeaks, face flushing crimson, and scoops a shirt from where it landed the night prior. It flies through the air and unceremoniously smacks Seonghwa in the face. Cackling, the older falls backward into the pillows again.

“Get dressed, you sap.” 

It’s as Seonghwa is shoveling a pile of scrambled eggs into his mouth that Hongjoong finally brings up the dreaded topic. With a sigh, the red head settles his water glass onto the table with a distinct clink. The sound draws Seonghwa’s attention as he slows his chewing just enough to meet Hongjoong’s level stare. “Yes?” He asks, setting his chopsticks on the edge of the plate so they teeter before the table and the faux-porcelain. 

“We need to talk about…” His gaze falters along with his words. It’s a deep breath and a second chance. “We need to talk about what happened last night. You need to text Yeosang.”

“And do what?” Seonghwa mumbles, finally swallowing the now soggy remnants that weigh like dust in his mouth. “He’s the one that left. You and I already talked about things, so–”

“It wasn’t just about that, Hwa,” Hongjoong mumbles, “Yeosang has the same kind of worries that I do. Just because you and I were able to kiss and make up doesn’t mean that he deserves to go cold turkey.” And he knows that the younger is correct. That he needs to swallow whatever billowing pride seems to hold him back from reaching out to the one soul that always saw through his antics. However, that does not make the notion any easier to accommodate.

Yet still, the words fall from his lips easily. Because loving Hongjoong is easy. And in times like this, pleasing him is as well. “I’ll call him after breakfast.” Hongjoong hums happily and draws a sip from his water glass. 

That afternoon, Seonghwa’s phone weighs heavy in his hand. He does not remember the first time he spoke to Yeosang. The first timeline’s memories were so entirely distant that it did not seem possible to ever get them back. Somehow, though, he imagines the conversation must have been similar to the one they are currently having. It’s full of awkward silences and the sound of rain pattering against the window pane that his cheek rests against. The cold glass is grounding; even this far above the street. 

Yeosang breaks the quiet again, with a deep sigh and a gentle cough.  _ “Why call if you don’t have anything to say to me, Hwa?” _ It’s a broken plea. Too soft and pliable to pull from beneath the winter snow that seems to push down on it so tightly.  _ “Put Hongjoong on–” _

“No, wait!” Seonghwa gasps desperately. “I was an asshole. I didn’t take your emotions, or Hongjoong’s, into account. You two have seen it all; experienced it. Ignorance is a blessing and I was about to waste it for a bit of morbid curiosity.”

_ “It would have done nothing but haunt you,” _ Yeosang says quietly.  _ “It’s the last thing I wanted to watch you go through.” _

“I know.”

_ “It’s not that you don’t deserve to know, Seonghwa, but why should you be the exception? You’re a human being; just like any of us. Why should you get the morbid closure that knowing your end brings when literally no one else ever will have the same chance?” _

The older breathes carefully, wisps catching on the speaker. From the couch, Hongjoong meets his eyes with warmth.  _ Keep going.  _ And so, Seonghwa does. He drives forward like a car pushing through a misty morning. Gentle, not too fast, and full of cautious observation. Look both ways before you pull into the intersection.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Yeosang,” he says, cracking the apology into the invisible space between them. Yeosang pauses, not responding to the heartfelt phrase, and suddenly a chuckle emanates from the other end of the line. “Are you laughing?” 

_ “In all of these timelines, I’m pretty sure that’s the fastest you’ve ever apologized for something.” _ And he knows, once more, that they will be okay. No matter the curveball thrown in their direction or the painful tug of the past; they will never hurt each other. And they will always be okay. 

When Tuesday rolls around, Seonghwa has already prepared himself to engage in a long-winded conversation with his father about exactly  _ why  _ he and Jongho could not settle on a venue. What he does not prepare for is the way his father leans against the heavy wooden desk, arms crossed over his chest, and a bizarre expression on his face. It’s a cross between fury and confusion. Enough so, that Seonghwa takes a few cautious steps backwards upon meeting the man’s dark eyes.

“Would you care to explain why your keycard registered on floor 1024 without permission, Seonghwa?” Director Park’s voice is like the deepest portion of the ocean; threatening to pull anyone who falls overboard directly into its trenches. It’s the kind of tone Seonghwa had learned to tiptoe around in every timeline. Yet here, the man does not scare him. 

Mind racing for an excuse, he spits out the first thing that comes to mind. “I was curious,” he says. His shoulders pull back with little resistance and he lifts his chin just enough to mimic confidence. “I didn’t have a chance to really look at the specimens,” the word rolls off his tongue like toxic waste, “and I was interested in learning more. Unfortunately, Eden was not present.”

“On a Sunday night?” His father asks, eyebrow raising. “Who would be present in the damn labs that late in the weekend, son?” The sentence is not laced with the same venom. Instead, mild interest seems to replace the irritation. “I’m glad to see you start coming around, Hwa.” Maybe, it’s the pride that comes with his father’s words. Or maybe, it’s the look of near respect that the man passes off on him. But something changes in the air; like flipping a switch. 

“Of course, Father.” With a hum, Director Park gestures for him to carry about his business. It is as though he was not prepared to push his own son to the limit. Without asking anything further, Seonghwa bows carefully and turns on his heel, gunning straight for his own office area. They had not been caught, somehow, but how deep in the woods were they? And how much longer would it be for the big bad wolf to catch wind of where they were?

It’s his personal line’s sudden alert ringing through the space nearly two hours later that makes Seonghwa jump clear out of his skin. Scrambling to answer the call, he presses nearly every button until finally it comes through. “Park Industries, this is Park Seonghwa speaking. What can I assist you–”

“ _ Hwa _ ,” the voice on the other line is teary. It’s impossible to make out half of what it babbles at him, or identify who is speaking, until a telltale name spills through the electronic lips of the device by his ear. “ _He's gone."_ Glass shatters deep within his chest. " _ Yeosang is missing.” _

With Jongho’s admission, Seonghwa shoots from his seat as though the chair is suddenly lined with glass shrapnel. Maybe one day it would be. Still holding the company phone, he is stumbling over his words. “Why didn’t you call my cell phone?” 

_ “I did,”  _ Jongho sobs, the sound ripping at Seonghwa’s heart like a burnt melody.  _ “Hongjoong answered it. You left it in his apartment this morning.” _ Names that should not be said in this building are flitting out left and right from the younger’s mouth. But for once, Seonghwa can’t bring himself to care.  _ “I need you to come over as fast as you can. Please.” _

It does not take even a moment for Seonghwa to agree. Hanging up the phone, he slides into his father’s office like a bat out of hell; panting in terror. “I need to leave,” he spews, gesturing wildly around the room. “Jongho called me with an emergency. Do you mind if I–”

“No, no, go,” his father says, effectively cutting him off. “Your fiance needs you more than whatever bullshit file folder you were working on. I’ll call one of the data specialists up from downstairs.” For once, Seonghwa is relieved to have the excuse of their arranged marriage. Until suddenly, his father is quirking a brow. “Should I call General Choi and have him meet you at the apartment? Or is this an on-duty booty call?” 

If it wasn’t for the icy panic in his veins, Seonghwa might have laughed. Despite his father’s cold personality, the man was still human. And occasionally, he did have the means to be an actual parent. However, Seonghwa can only mumble, “No to General Choi, but is now truly the time for that?” His father laughs quietly before waving him out of the room. 

Turning the corner, he slams into a warm body with a yelp. The figure chuckles before placing both hands on his shoulders, steadying his wobbling frame, and immediately Seonghwa feels the red hot iron of fury slam into his chest. Eden stares back at him with a light expression. For the first time, it is easy to see how close in height they truly are. 

“Where are you rushing off to?” It is dropped into the air without the semblance of formalities. Eden’s infuriating smirk paired with the tilt of his head makes Seonghwa long for a chance to send the scientist sprawling. No, not just a scientist. His killer. However, the moment passes without incident as Eden releases his frame and starts past him. “Park Seonghwa?” He says softly; just before he is out of earshot. “Know who you are willing to trust. A point will come where you need to watch your back out there.” And with that, he is gone. Trapezing through the halls as though he never said a single word. And for a second, Seonghwa wishes that he hadn’t.

Even as he opens the door to Jongho’s expensive penthouse, having been buzzed up by the Santalales doorman that elected knowledge as his one magical skill, he cannot disperse Eden’s voice from the back of his mind. It plays like a distant echo, grinding against the space between two mountainsides, and gnaws into his brain like a stray headache. Inside the apartment, the space sits silent and steady. With just a few steps, Seonghwa knows Jongho’s location based on the wake of destruction the man left. 

Throughout the main room, papers have been scattered. Their tattered edges taunt him; mimicking well-used maps to gemstones and luxury. They line the floor as an obscure path until finally stopping in the doorway of the younger’s bedroom. What Seonghwa cannot prepare himself for, however, is the other’s crumpled form slouched just beside the king-sized bed. Jongho hardly looks up from the distant focal point that he has seemingly set just beyond the horizon of the sturdy wall mirror. As his reflection stares back, Seonghwa wonders what it sees. Does Jongho’s likeness even recognize himself? 

Kneeling before his fiance, his hands are moving before he has time to think against the action. For once, Jongho does not fight the tight embrace that Seonghwa pulls him into. There is no horrified screech or hands shoving him away. Instead, the man’s grip digs into the fabric of Seonghwa’s shirt; bunching it as though it has less resistance than water. It’s a grounding motion; one where Jongho tries to pull himself back to the surface without dipping too far beneath the waves. Seonghwa, into the other’s dark hair, can only whisper promises of the future as a broken sob tears from the man’s throat. 

He once told Yeosang something simple. A broken phrase to look back on in the eye of an adversary. And now, cradling the youngest’s shaking figure in his lap, he knows that he was wrong. Jongho is Jericho and every wall seems to crash around him at the same time. Every meticulous barrier. Every dam to keep the emotions concealed. All those months ago, he uttered the words, ‘ _ It’s Jongho. It takes a lot to overwhelm him,’  _ only to watch everything invade his safe space at the same moment. 

When Jongho finally stops shaking, for the first time in what feels like hours, Seonghwa is able to pull the other upright. Even with his muscular arms wrapped around the older’s neck, the younger exudes fragility. Rather than pushing him to the brink, Seonghwa presses a fatherly kiss to the boy’s forehead. Jongho sighs into the featherlight touch, pressing his pointer finger against the spot, and frowns. They both know what is coming, no matter how much they try to avoid it. 

“Jongho,” Seonghwa whispers, careful not to let his voice show the fear he feels, “When did you last see Yeosang?” The younger tenses in his hold, breathing suddenly shallow, and mumbles something under his breath. “Precious, I didn’t catch that.”

“This morning,” the younger says again, nowhere near as confident in his speech as he usually was. “He left my apartment this morning and said he was going to grab a few things from Hongjoong’s.” It’s a statement that lingers in the air between them. Seonghwa had left Hongjoong’s that morning and was only at work for a few hours before Jongho’s call came in. The two would have passed each other on their way to their destinations. There was no way around it.

“What time exactly did Yeosang leave?”

Jongho quiets as his focus falls onto the skin surrounding his thumbnail. Picking at it carefully, he frowns. “8AM, I think. It was before I was really awake at 9AM, but after I came to bed around 6AM.” He gives a rough movement, pulling the hangnail he was working on away from his flesh quickly. The motion makes him hiss as the wound turns a crimson red. Finger pressed against his mouth, he continues, “I called you about two hours later. He didn’t text me on his way back like he usually does. So, I asked Hongjoong if he showed up, but I guess he never made it there…” The sentence drops over painfully as Jongho’s body shivers lethally. 

“Hey, hey, it’ll be alright,” Seonghwa coos to the other, palms rubbing soothing circles into the man’s back. “Do you want me to get everyone else involved? Or is it more comfortable if it’s just us for now?” Jongho shrugs carefully. His dark eyes are laced with unshed tears as he gazes back to Seonghwa.

“I don’t want them to think I’m being a burden,” he starts as the well begins to fill again. “I can’t– It’s not what Yeosang–”

“You’ll never be a burden.” Seonghwa watches as a salty tear rolls down his cheek. “Everything you do, everything you have ever done, is for others. Let us do this for you and Yeosang both.  _ Please _ .” The ending breaks off like shattered ice, but he prays that the meaning comes across. Jongho does not say anything. Instead, he burrows his head into the crook of Seonghwa’s neck with a soft huff. It’s a delicate process; trying to pull the youngest out of the darkness that he buried himself in. However, it is not an impossible one. Running his fingers through the man’s hair, he feels Jongho sigh against his skin. 

“Okay.” 

The rest of the group arrives as nothing short of chaotic. Eyes wide, Hongjoong is the first to barrel through the door like a bat out of hell. Rather than acknowledging his lover, he beelines for Jongho with frantic footsteps. The red head pulls him into a tight embrace, tutting when the younger tries to squirm away. 

“Let me love on you, you big baby,” he hisses, smiling when Jongho lets out a defeated laugh. “We’ll get through this, angelwing. We always do.”

“Does it always hurt this badly?” Jongho asks. His voice is muffled by the material of Hongjoong’s threadbare flannel, but it resounds with meaning anyways. “Do we ever stop feeling like this, Joong?” Hongjoong hums in affirmation. Seonghwa can only watch as the brunette goes limp in the older man’s arms. It’s as though every dark spirit he was harboring in his heart leaves him at the same moment. Relief and understanding dance in a twisted waltz around them, but for a second, they find a rhythm. And that moment is all they really need. 

When San and Wooyoung step through the door, followed quickly by Yunho and Mingi, the only thing that leaves San’s mouth is, “I had no idea that being an immortal was the same as being an eternal bastard.” Wooyoung slaps at his arm as his boyfriend rolls his eyes. “I’m serious. When we figure out where he is, I’m shoving my foot up his–”

“San, please,” Yunho mumbles, pawing at his temples. “I can’t handle this,” he motions in the vague direction of the other couple. With a gasp, San throws his hand over his heart. Ignoring the younger’s indignant, ‘you just motioned to all of me’, Yunho continues, “I couldn’t tell my boss the truth about why I was leaving early, so do you know what I did?”

“Oh no,” Hongjoong whispers, already bracing for the worst. 

“I fucking told him our cat died.  _ We’re dog people. _ ” Seonghwa does not see the issue with the lie until Yunho polishes off the story. “He was totally cool with it; told me to run home and take the day off, but he asked the cat’s name. I panicked and said Mingi.”

Guffawing, Wooyoung and San both double over in mirror succession. It’s a breath before the realization clicks in Seonghwa’s mind. “You told him that the cat you own with your boyfriend, Mingi,” he says slowly, “was named after your boyfriend?” With a smirk, Seonghwa whispers, “He probably thinks that Mingi got jealous and wanted his name back.” The room erupts into high-pitched laughter. It does not feel right. Nothing feels normal. Yeosang’s glaring absence comes back to the forefront of their problems as the silence weighs heavily on the group’s shoulders.

“What the hell are we supposed to do now?” Mingi’s deep voice lays over them carefully as Seonghwa draws in a sharp breath. 

“My father knows that I was on Floor 1024. He saw the records, but he’s also under the impression that I was only in the lab because I was interested in the experiment. So, let’s use that to our advantage,” he says, hardly lifting his gaze from his feet. “We don’t even know if they’re involved, but I think it’s our best bet.”

Jongho laughs bitterly from his position next to Hongjoong. His eyes are swollen and red, but the fury that glows within them outweighs any suggestion of resting first. “I’ll burn this entire planet to the ground if it means finding him. He wouldn’t just leave like this. Not after everything is finally out in the open.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Seonghwa wonders when the youngest got so brave. The son of a warlord and the descent of Tropaeolaceaet; he looks every bit as powerful as his bloodline ensures. “Let’s go.”

“Now?” Wooyoung whispers just as Hongjoong mumbles, “I guess.” There was no turning back. No matter the timeline, it did not feel as though they had ever gotten this close to ending the loop. Maybe, it was foolish to have hope. However, there was always the chance that things could move forward.  _ That they could finally move forward.  _

And Seonghwa would not be the one to stop anyone from fulfilling their destiny. 

But as they waltz through the doors of Park Industries, the world seems to be all too still. No one approaches them. No one even looks twice at the rag tag group of seven; dressed in black and donning simple masks to cover their faces. And Seonghwa notices the way people pretend to ignore them. He sees the eyes that flicker over their tightly packed crowd. Yet, none stop to ask them who they are or what they want. Instead, they watch as the group calls the elevator. They watch as the men in black descend far beneath the shores of certain fate. And they do not seem to mind. 

“I thought this would be more dramatic,” San mumbles through the dark fabric tied tightly around his mouth. “You know? I figured we would be outrunning guards or–”

“They know we’re coming,” Seonghwa whispers, hardly audible over his own mask. “I saw Eden today. In the hallway just after Jongho called me. He told me not to trust anyone and to watch my back.”

Hongjoong huffs, pushing his hair out of his eyes with a narrow look. “Does he think you actually ever trusted him? If Mingi is right and he’s the one that shot you–”

“He could be the one initiating the reset in every universe. He might be looking for the one where Maddox is still alive,” Mingi stares at the metal wall in front of them as though it might begin to close in on the group at any moment. “Think about it, he can’t alter the timeline himself. He needs Hongjoong to do it and the best way to get at Joong is–”

“Through Seonghwa,” Jongho’s tone drops into subatomic levels. It’s quiet, but filled with all of the anger of a burning star forced to watch its twin flicker and fade. “That fucker is going to use anything and everything like a pawn until he gets a chance to play God and bring back someone who is long gone.”

As Jongho says it, his words holding all of the power the universe has to offer, Hongjoong’s figure freezes. It’s a heartbeat, a breath, before his shoulders slump as well. Even with his face obscured, Seonghwa knows instantly the line that was being steadily treaded has been crossed. “What makes him any different from me?” Hongjoong whispers, focusing on the red digits on the elevator screen as they dip lower and lower into the Earth. 

“Joong–” Jongho’s voice is cut off as the doors open, spilling them onto Floor 1024. The red head only offers a delicate smile, the ghost of agony spinning mercilessly behind his eyes, and pushes out of the metal shaft first. Seonghwa watches as a flash of black and gold reflects the LED lights that cast a sickening white glow onto the world around them. At some point during the trip, he realizes, the younger had taken control of his keycard. With a frown, Seonghwa takes a step forward to stop him from swiping it, but is too late. The door flashes green and Hongjoong lunges through the smallest crack he can manage before pulling it shut tightly behind him. 

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa cries. Through the small, glass window, the younger startles slightly. It’s three steps until Seonghwa is throwing himself against the cold metal. It presses back, the shiny chrome reflecting the heat that pools around his finger tips, and his lover only casts a sad smile over his shoulder. “Joong, please, open the door.”

Hongjoong shakes his head carefully, so carefully, and Seonghwa can only see the way his mouth forms a whisper. “I love you,” the red head breathes, “don’t forget me?” Time was always a finicky thing. Hongjoong opens the next door without another sound. And then, as he reaches the final barrier, it opens from the other side in almost slow motion. Two blonde figures, one smaller than the other, emerge from within the lab. 

Yeosang, appearing fragile and delicate, is cradled in Eden’s arms. From the distance, the younger man does not seem to be breathing. Silence falls over the group like a town falling victim to church bells at noon. Jongho, who at some point appeared next to Seonghwa’s trembling frame, makes a guttural noise in the back of his throat. For a moment, Hongjoong looks as though he is going to throw a punch. As though he is going to grab Eden by the hair and slam him against the glass.  _ Instead _ ...

Yeosang’s chest rises. 

And immediately, Hongjoong is scrambling to reopen the door he just came through. Before he can, however, the elevator dings behind them. As if watching the tallest limb of a tree plummet towards the ground during a raging storm, Seonghwa turns to look at their unexpected guest. Before he can meet the visitor’s eyes, a deafening sound echoes through the small threshold. And once again, everything goes black. The last thing he hears is Wooyoung's broken gasp evidently directed at his boyfriend.

"Dude, I thought you were supposed to be lucky."  


And Seonghwa would laugh if his body was not alight with a sharp ache in every limb. 

_Seonghwa would laugh._

_If_ _ only they had enough time. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Hello, loves! It's sloppy, short, and a little rushed, but frankly that just seems to be my style.
> 
> See you all in a few days!
> 
> Find me on Twitter or Insta: @KyojinOuji  
> I always follow back and love new friends.
> 
> Cheers! ❀


	10. You've Got Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE; sort of self-harm?; Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Not proof-read or Beta-read so there are bound to be mistakes.  
> (Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ❀

> [ _ “Think of all the roads; think of all their crossings. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _ Taking steps is easy; standing still is hard. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _ Remember all their faces. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _ Remember all their voices. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _ Everything is different the second time around. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _ The animals, the animals, _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _ Trap, trap, trap 'til the cage is full. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _ The cage is full. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _ Stay awake.” _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ **_You’ve Got Time_ ** _ \- Regina Spektor _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> * * *

How does one describe what it feels like to die? For him, it has always been the same. Once the pain dissipates, it is like floating. It is like dancing on the surface of a glimmering, reflective sea. There is no end or beginning to the sky that settles beneath one’s toes or above their mind. Instead, there is only an infinite horizon. This, however, does not feel like dying. 

The numbness that buzzes around his skin like a warm blanket does not fade, even as soft hands poke and prod at his ribs. When the darkness opens up to the blinding LEDs of the lab, Seonghwa knows that he is alive. Painfully, intrinsically alive. And by the looks of it, so is everyone else. He can’t fight the smile that blooms on his face as Wooyoung’s eyes widen significantly when their gazes meet. 

“Oh my god, you’re okay,” the man whispers, pulling Seonghwa’s body to his chest. “They hit you pretty hard. You fell so fast that no one could catch you. I don’t think you have a concussion, but you’ve been out for hours.”

Beside him, a deep voice rumbles. “It’s not like we could have done anything if we caught him, Woo,” Mingi says, pulling his knees to his chest. Yunho tugs him close with a frown. Around Mingi’s wrists, two glowing bands of neon green catch Seonghwa’s attention. Immediately, Mingi’s eyes meet his own and the taller man offers a subtle shrug. “Neutralizers. They threw them on everyone with abilities.” 

“It’s bullshit,” bites a new voice. San leans against the crystalline blue glass of the cell they appear to be trapped in. “What was I going to do? Luck us out of here? We seem pretty damn stuck, if I do say so myself.” Seonghwa feels a shift against his thigh and jolts at the contact. Hongjoong’s still form rests against him, red hair fanning out against the dark material of Seonghwa’s slacks, and the older produces a bizarre, strangled sound from the back of his throat. 

“He’s okay,” Wooyoung whispers, hearing the distress. “He tried to play the hero again. They tranqed him the moment they got the doors open.” Hongjoong stirs slightly, but does not wake up. Instead, Seonghwa can only stare daggers at the neutralizing handcuffs that had been looped around his lover’s wrists. They were sickly reminders of the world Seonghwa’s own family had a hand in creating; of the cage they sat within.

From the corner of the unit, a soft voice says, “You’re doing that thing again.” Seonghwa whips around to stare at its owner with wide eyes. Yeosang’s face has been battered with dark bruises already forming along the high point of his cheeks and jaw. Across his nose, a large gash has torn its way across his porcelain skin. For a moment, Seonghwa fights the urge to gag. Nonetheless, Yeosang continues, offering him a soft, pained smile, “You’re making that face. The one where you blame yourself for everything.” 

Jongho’s head rests on his dainty shoulder, his chest rising and falling in his unconscious state, and Yeosang’s fingers are threaded deep into the brunette’s hair. The youngest is safe. They are all safe. Even Eden, who frowns from his spot against the wall, does not appear to be harmed. And for once, Seonghwa finds himself at an absolute loss for words. Until finally, the most cautious ones pour from his lips like a leaky tap. 

“Why are you helping us?” He asks Eden. The blonde, whose eyes had been tightly shut, gazes back with a frown. “You started ‘Star 1117’.” Eden freezes with the accusation. “You shot me.”

“What possibly gave you the idea that I started the project?” He whispers, voice frosted over in disbelief. “Is that why you’ve been so weird? I would never start such a morbid thing. We agreed, at the beginning, that I would be the one to stop a dead-end timeline.” Was that what he considered the happiness that came with the previous universe? A dead end? It’s when Eden turns to Yeosang that Seonghwa realizes his mistake. “Did you guys just not tell them anything?” 

“We didn’t think it was right–”

“I don’t give a damn what you thought was  _ right,  _ Kang,” he says, eyes narrowed into slits. “I was fine with being the scapegoat; fine with being the enemy. Just don’t forget that I lost someone too.” With s sigh, Eden kneels next to Seonghwa. His expression is almost pitiful; desperate. Filled to the brim with unspoken thoughts and memories of God knows what. It’s when his palm lands on Seonghwa’s shoulder that the brunette flinches. Eden draws in a sharp breath. 

“Seonghwa,” he says quietly, “they told you who I am, right?” The younger man nods. “Then, you know I’ve been here since the beginning. What you don’t know, however, is that none of us have a single clue who started ‘Star 1117’.” The statement is not as surprising as Eden seems to wish for it to be. Instead, it is almost lackluster. However, the man continues with a scowl. “We agreed that it would be best to have someone on the inside. Your father was more than willing to have another descendent of Quercus on his staff and foolish enough to make him the head scientist of the project. The creator, however, has never been revealed to anyone. When things don’t seem like they’re going anywhere, or maybe going somewhere too quickly, I’ve been in charge of initiating the change.”

San scoffs, drawing the group’s attention, and crosses his arms over his chest defiantly. “Why wouldn’t you just tell us that to start? Better yet, Yeosang,” he says as the blonde’s head flies up, “why didn’t you say anything?”

“Eden told me not–”

“Oh, fuck off.” San’s tone is impatient. Full of months worth of built up tension. “You have a brain of your own. Use it once in a while.” He takes a step towards the older boy, eyebrows furrowing. Mingi and Yunho both make a move to stop him just as Wooyoung reaches out carefully; fingers wrapping around his boyfriend’s ankle. “Do you know what you did to Wooyoung? Every time you chose to play the good little hero, you ripped his heart out of his chest and fed it to the wolves. Over and over, you made the decision to do that.” Yeosang’s shoulders droop as San’s voice echoes through the corridor. With the motion, Jongho’s eyes flutter open.

From the floor, Wooyoung speaks softly. His voice no louder than a desperate whisper, it is like watching the rain be sucked back into the sky. To him, the world is nothing but sea salt and lavender. “That’s enough, San,” he breathes, “it’s enough, okay?”

With an irritated groan, San slams his ass onto the linoleum beside his other half. “When will you ever learn to ask for more, Wooyoung?”

“What?” 

“You’ll take the sun on your skin as your only reward for surviving. Ask for more,” San whispers, burying his face into Wooyoung’s hair. “You deserve so much more.” The cell falls into silence and San cries. It’s a flood gate that has threatened to spill open, again, for weeks. Only this time, the entire party is around to feel the way the man drowns in his emotions.

The sound startles Hongjoong out of his unconscious state. With a gasp, the red head shoots up from his position; effectively slamming the top of his skull into Seonghwa’s chin. Both yelp, in pain and surprise, and scramble to cradle their injured body parts. “Why are your bones so sharp?” Hongjoong whines, palms applying pressure to the non-existent wound on his scalp. With a soft chuckle, Seonghwa shrugs. 

“You’re the one with a thick skull,” he says, absentmindedly reaching out to thread his fingers through the other man’s hair. “I don’t think you have a lump though.” Hongjoong stares back at him with all of the warmth of a raging flame before his attention falls instead on San and Wooyoung. His mouth flounders open for a moment, but snaps shut with a click. It’s probably for the best; just for now. 

No one in the chamber speaks. Instead, they give the couple time to sort through their thoughts; their emotions. It would always be a difficult journey, but San and Wooyoung were two halves of the same coin. Silent conversations and telltale quirks, the two knew everything about the other. They did not deserve to be thrown through the wringer so often. And yet, here they were; cradling their fingers as though they were the last ones on a sinking ship. Maybe they were. 

By the time San finally pulls away, lashline still brimming with unshed tears, fury devours his expression. “Well, what are we waiting for?” He asks, eyes blazing. “How the fuck are we overthrowing the government this time?” 

The space is far from large and hardly enough for the nine grown men to be housed in comfortably. Behind Yeosang, a door catches Seonghwa’s attention. Yeosang’s gaze falls on to where the older man is focusing with a squint. “It’s a bathroom,” he says and cocks his head in the direction of the entrance. “Obviously, they would prefer their hostages to not just piss on the floor.”

“Your father is such a dick, Hwa,” Hongjoong mumbles. The casual statement draws a laugh from the room. “I know they say in-laws are shit, but like, damn dude. I hope your mom is at least willing to get brunch or something.”

Jongho chuckles, “She’s basically just Seonghwa, honestly. You can talk hot gossip with her as soon as  _ we get the hell out of here _ .” It comes out humorous, but something lies beneath the surface. A desperation to go back to the time before everything went haywire; whenever that was. Maybe, back then, their apartment had delicately embroidered curtains and Jongho could talk about them whenever he panicked. Maybe, they were neighbors. Maybe, it hasn't happened yet.

Eden clears his throat. As the others turn to face him, his expression is almost sheepish. As though he does not like to have attention fall onto him, despite the necessity. Seonghwa has no memory of the man from previous timelines. Though, he no longer feels the same sense of distrust that he should. Was this another dead end? Were there any moments that actually mattered here? Or had every single memory, every struggle, been for nothing? 

Eden’s voice floats through the room breathlessly. “I don’t think we should reset this timeline yet,” he nearly whispers. “Not that it was even a suggestion in the first place, but I want to put that out there. I think we should see how far this takes us.” He paces to the bathroom door, motioning for Yeosang to move aside, and the younger man immediately obliges. Eden disappears into the room for a brief second before his voice carries itself out. “There’s a first aid kit here.”

“We’re all pretty banged up, but is there anything that would actually be helpful for a few cuts and bruises?” Hongjoong mumbles, studying the way his fingers have difficulty bending at the knuckle. “Unless you’ve got an x-ray and a shit ton of pain meds, I’m pretty sure my own injuries are here to stay.”

Mingi hums from his spot, flexing his knee. “They shoved me harder than I expected. Didn’t know how fast I could fall.” From next to him, Yunho chuckles softly, intertwining their fingers. Mingi’s binds reflect the green glow against Yunho’s skin, casting his wrist a sickly color. The way the two stare at each other, with all of the tender grace of a fallen angel and their muse, makes Seonghwa’s stomach roll painfully.  _ How did they end up here?  _

Hongjoong senses the change in his body language. Gently, he presses a kiss to Seonghwa’s eyebrow with a subtle smile. “I can practically hear you thinking, love,” he says against the sensitive skin. His breath is warm as it tickles the small hairs. “Come back down for a bit.” He leans against the brunette, a grounding weight, and sighs when Seonghwa’s arms wind around his midsection with little resistance. 

Eden emerges from the bathroom with a dull expression. His eyes fall onto the couple within seconds. He seems so familiar. So careful. However, nothing can prepare the group for the words that fall from his lips. “I think we should kill Seonghwa.”

“Excuse me?” Hongjoong is immediately squirming in his lover’s lap; outrage overcoming his features. He doesn’t have a moment to stand, though, before Jongho is crossing the space within a few strides. The youngest’s fist connects with the scientist’s jaw in a sickening crack. Eden’s body crumples to the linoleum like a brick thrown into the sea. “Holy shit–”

“Jongho!” Yeosang yelps, trying to skitter over to his boyfriend’s side. “What are you doing?” The brunette faces the immortal with wide eyes. He gestures vaguely at the other man, who pushes himself upright, and shrugs. “You punched him!” Yeosang grabs for Jongho’s hand. Slowly, he examines his knuckles with intense focus. “You could have gotten hurt.” The older presses a soft kiss to Jongho’s thumb.

“Is that really your biggest concern, babe? Dude just straight up threatened homicide,” Jongho mumbles, eyes searching Yeosang’s face for any trace of anger. As though the man would actually turn against him for defending Seonghwa. Instead, Yeosang rolls his eyes. 

“I’m pretty sure there was more to what Eden was going to say,” the immortal says, watching Eden cradle his tender jaw. “ I still think he deserved a good punch though. So, nice job.” Yeosang’s lips push against Jongho’s for a brief second before he kneels down in front of Eden. “Speak.”

Eden grunts quietly, none too thrilled with his treatment. Still, he continues. “I meant that we should stage it to look like we turned against Seonghwa. His father, no matter how cruel, has always been particular about keeping his heir safe.”

Seonghwa nods slowly. “I’m not sure if that’s thanks to the company or if he actually cares, but it is a nice quality for a father to have, I guess.” The thought is almost funny. No matter the universe, his father did have an odd sense of showing his affection. Rather, what little he harbored. “I’m willing–”

“No,” Hongjoong interjects. “I don’t care how willing you are. Things can always go wrong.” 

Something in Seonghwa’s chest tinges with toxic venom. It’s a leaking, belittling poison that taints his blood as easily as ink in water. “You don’t get to make this decision, Joong.” It comes out bitter. Milkweed laced with bourbon. “You were ready to sacrifice yourself to rescue Yeosang without telling any of us. Just be thankful I’m giving you a warning.” 

“Hwa–”

“He’s right,” Mingi says quietly. “None of us are worth much to Park Industries. My family hardly works with the company, same with Yunho’s. San was fired, for God’s sake. And Wooyoung is KQ’s prodigy, but they’re not involved in the majority of what Park promotes.” Mingi’s eyes lift from the finger he has been hyper focused on. Around his nail, the skin bleeds. “Seonghwa is our only real hope. And Jongho, if we’re being honest. The last thing Director Park wants to do is piss off the General.”

Hongjoong does not respond. He sinks into himself, into Seonghwa, and buries his head in his hands. Instead of pursuing the fight, Seonghwa nuzzles into the man’s neck. Any moment could be their last in this universe. Plan or not, there would always be obstacles to avoid. “I’m here right now, Joong,” he whispers, not quite loud enough for the others to hear. “And when it comes down to it, I’m pretty sure we deserve a chance to breathe again.” Hongjoong nods silently.

Eden slides the first aid kit in his direction. “Pick your poison.” Within the box, a set of medical tools sit wrapped in a small, leather pouch. Carefully, Seonghwa pulls out a scalpel and bandage shears. “I promise, we’ll avoid your face. We just need to draw a little blood for the effect. The rest is all on your acting. You just have to trust us, okay, Seonghwa?” As the metal in his hands glints back at him, he catches his dishevelled appearance. His hair sticks up at nearly every angle. His usually bright eyes are dull; the skin surrounding one bruised beyond recognition. 

When Hongjoong takes the scalpel from his fingers, Seonghwa does not expect him to drag it down his palm. Each millimeter draws a spark of bright red; enough to make the older hiss. “I’m sorry,” Hongjoong whimpers as Seonghwa lets out a dull cry. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

It continues like that, each person drawing the blades somewhere on his body, but not pushing hard enough to cause any real damage. When it comes to Jongho, there is a soft moment of understanding that passes between the two. At some point, Seonghwa realizes, the pain had grown less noticeable. Instead, numbness spread from his limbs like pins and needles. What lengths would you go to just to simply survive? When did he start noticing daisies sprouting from sidewalk cracks and see himself reflected in them? 

“I’m sorry,” Jongho mumbles as the sharp edge of the scalpel traces Seonghwa’s skin. Red runs down his arm, staining the linoleum with the swirling crimson blossoms he had begun to see in his dreams. Higanbana; the red spider-lily. Afterlife’s stunning bloom that would lead the way again and again. If things went wrong here, she would lead him once more into the new world. Just as his vision goes hazy, as he watches Jongho pull the tinted metal away from the wound, Hongjoong pulls him against his chest with a soft cry. Jongho stands just as the plexiglass case around them opens to face the audience that they have drawn.

Maybe things would have been different in another timeline. In this one, however, the sound of a shot ricochets from the walls. The pain does not increase. There is no all-encompassing darkness to embrace Seonghwa’s addled mind. Instead, he is forced to watch as Jongho’s body hits the ground with a grotesque thud. The light goes out of the youngest’s eyes before his form even makes contact with the flowery patterns of lique red that coat the floor. 

“This is unfortunate,” a voice says, drawing Seonghwa’s gaze upward. “Your father promised that this alliance would keep Jongho safe, you know. I didn’t realize that you fools would make my own kin into my greatest enemy.” General Choi stares down at them coldly, his face a hard, mirror image of the child sprawled beneath him. “You lot grew up to be bastards, you know that?”

_ Time is a finicky thing,  _ Seonghwa thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Hello, loves! One more chapter of plot to follow this one and then it's into the epilogue we go. I usually post both at the same time, so the next update will be the last. 
> 
> Thank you for joining me on this journey. See you in a few days!
> 
> Find me on Twitter : @KyojinOuji  
> I always follow back and love new friends. Also, you have permission to scream at me if needed.
> 
> Cheers! ❀


	11. my heart goes bum bum bum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❀ TW: Graphic Violence (like,,,there's a lot), Death ❀

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Not proof-read or Beta-read so there are bound to be mistakes.  
> (Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ❀

> [ _ “You said take the violin that you hang on your wall, _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _ Stick it under your bed before it crumbles and falls. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _ Just don't open your eyes before counting to ten. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _ I can hardly remember, just the smell of your hands _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _ As they danced on my body, running over my pores _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _ With the force of steering wheel crushing my bones. _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _ I said, ‘You smell like the devil, but you feel like the lord.’” _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ **_my heart goes bum bum bum_ ** _ \- Flatsound _ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> * * *

All the air seems to have flown from the room within a matter of seconds. The sticky, warm crimson that speckles Seonghwa’s face stinks of iron and rust. For a moment, breathing does not come easily. And then, it comes all too quickly. One sharp breath after another. He feels the bound grip of Hongjoong’s scrambling fingers on his bicep; panickedly racing to bring him back down.

“It really is a pity,” the general says, taking a step closer. “I thought of you as a son, Park Seonghwa.” The rubber sole of his expensive black boot slams onto Jongho’s hand with a sickening crunch. The boy in question groans in agony. He is still alive, but hardly. His breathing comes slow, and with each, he shudders painfully.

His father does not care. Instead, he grinds down harder with the toe of the heavy shoe. It’s as though he is stamping out the cherry of a cigarette. He is destroying the still burning ember of his son’s life. Would Seonghwa’s own father do the same?

It’s when the brunette whimpers beneath the man’s foot that a blur of blonde flies across the space. Yeosang, nearly growling, lunges at General Choi’s throat with all the ferocity of a wild animal. His fingers just barely graze the man’s neck by the time he is being tossed to the side like a ragdoll. As his delicate form hits a nearby row of crystalline cells, his body goes limp. With a resounding thud, he slams into the linoleum. Seonghwa pretends to miss the grotesque sound his skull makes as it cracks against the floor. 

Hongjoong tenses against him. Under his breath, he tearfully whispers, “I can’t reset the timeline.” And the reason as to why becomes glaringly obvious. His wrists are still tied together with those toxic-green bands. Even in his hazy state, Seonghwa glances around the room quickly. Yunho, Eden, Wooyoung, and himself are the only ones left unbound. Their abilities, while powerful mentally, are useless in their situation. 

General Choi makes a noise in the back of his throat, attention still on Yeosang, as he pulls the metal weapon back out of the holster on his hip. “I wish you would all learn to stay down,” he says, taking aim on the immortal’s crumpled figure. Yeosang is trying, with everything left inside himself, to pull his body off the cold ground. He is immortal. Yeosang has always been immortal. It was never a surprise, not now, nor ever. Yet, just as the man’s finger settles over the trigger, another figure sprints into the line of fire. 

The gun goes off just as Wooyoung enters the frame. In another universe, the bullet would have missed completely. In another universe, the entertainer’s yelp would not reverberate around the space like a desperate call to arms.  _ This is not another universe. _

Behind him, the plexiglass cases splatter with the dark red of higanbana. As his body is consumed by gravity, Wooyoung’s body hits the floor. No one finds it within themselves to move. Seonghwa can only watch helplessly as the young man drags himself the remaining few feet to Yeosang’s own trembling frame. Carefully, he pushes the other man back down. With all the grace of a dying star, Wooyoung whispers something into Yeosang’s ear, drowned out by the furious hiss the sputters from General Choi’s lips, and covers the immortal as though he is a living shield. 

San lets out a soft breath. His stare does not falter from his lover’s shape as he takes a single step. And then, another. It’s a slow crawl; one that draws the general’s attention easily. “Are you trying to be next, little bird?” The man’s voice is low. Threatening and as deep as the unseen ocean ridges. San, however, does not back down.

“Shoot me if you fucking want to, you ugly rat,” he bites out, gaze still not leaving Wooyoung’s shaking body. “But give me an explanation first. What do you get out of this?” General Choi does not answer. Instead, he trains his sights on San’s receding back. The soft spot between the boy’s shoulder blades flickers with the red laser attachment. “Why go through all the trouble?”

Choi barks out a laugh, lowering the gun, and merely shrugs. The audacity burns through Seonghwa’s chest like a hot nickel ball on styrofoam. “Does it matter?” The man asks, his voice similar to Jongho’s. As he says it, he kicks his son’s still frame harshly. This time, Jongho hardly twitches. They were running out of time.

San mumbles, “Maybe not to you.” His green binds glitter gently in the low-light and immediately General Choi seems to lose all interest in pursuing him. He wasn’t a threat. Seonghwa’s mind races through every possible route, his focus travelling between the three guards Choi brought with him and the countless rows of crystalline tanks. Suddenly, movement against his thigh draws his attention. Gently, Hongjoong’s index finger taps a subtle beat into the skin. Morse code, Seonghwa realizes numbly; brain addled with the gentle vignette of a darker future laid out before them. Of course, their idea had backfired spectacularly. He was in no shape to stand up; let alone fight for their lives. 

_ ‘Y-U-N-H-O.’  _ Hongjoong presses into his skin. Without drawing the attention of Jongho’s father, Seonghwa allows his gaze to flicker in Yunho’s direction. The man meets his eyes before tapping the green neutralizers that wrap around Mingi’s wrists. Yunho then flicks his own unbound ones with a narrowed look of determination. ‘ _ E-D-E-N.’  _

The second code draws Seonghwa’s focus to the immortal. Eden has settled onto the linoleum, back pressed to the glass wall, but is not looking up from his lap. Instead, his gaze is trained on the metal scalpel that rests beneath his thigh. Somehow, he had managed to stash the instrument without anyone noticing. Pulling his attention to Hongjoong’s neutralizers, he takes note of the tiny box that seems to connect the two halves. Maybe, if one was to wiggle a blade between the metal widgets, they would be able to deactivate the entire piece. 

‘U-S-U-R-E?’ Seonghwa pushes into Hongjoong’s skin. In the background, General Choi spews raw sewage about his hope for a better tomorrow and being betrayed by his own child. At the moment, however, his tirade is no more than white noise. Hongjoong nods slowly, a frown already tattooed onto his skin. For a second, Seonghwa can’t help but wonder if it will be a permanent fixture. He longs to wipe the negative expression from the man’s face. It seems irrational, to want to make his lover smile despite the situation around him. It is less than perfect. And yet somehow, that seems to be the theme with all they know. It is textbook meliorism. 

It happens in a split second. While the general and his minions are distracted by Wooyoung’s writhing form, Eden slides the scalpel out from beneath his thigh. It skitters silently until it hits the black leather of Hongjoong’s outstretched boot. As the sole of his shoe conceals the metal blade, he bends his knee just enough to draw the weapon closer. Quietly, he uses the portion of his body that is not facing the enemy to push it into Seonghwa’s waiting fingers. Gently, he guides Hongjoong’s bound wrists into the space between them. San, catching sight of what is happening, immediately takes charge of distracting Jongho’s father again. 

“So, what are you going to do? Kill us all?”

“Not all,” Choi says, fiddling with the gun. “Just most. Do you have a problem with that?” The question is as ridiculous as it sounds. San laughs bitterly, rolling his eyes, and hurumphs a response that sounds like a resounding, ‘yes’, before General Choi’s fingers wrap around his throat. “You’re a particular bug I would like to crush. What good are you worth?” San does not respond. 

Seonghwa drives the blade between the two halves of the metal connector. With a strangled pop, he watches it spark and fall open. Quickly, he gathers the pieces and shoves them under his thigh before they clatter to the ground. The green glow of the neutralizer fades out almost instantly. Hongjoong shoots him a strangled grin as Seonghwa finally meets his eyes. There would still be a chance for a better tomorrow. 

San notices the change in atmosphere within a breath. Smirking, he gazes at General Park; dimples on full show. Even the hands around his neck hardly prevent the brilliant sunlight that comes with his beauty. “You’re...stupid,” he coughs, just as Seonghwa uses the opportunity to slide the instrument in Yunho’s direction. The younger smiles thankfully, rushing to grip the metal, and slides it into his sleeve. The action draws the attention of one of the nearby guards. The man cocks his head slightly, eyes narrowed, and sizes Yunho up. It is when his gaze falls onto Mingi, wrapped tightly in Yunho’s embrace, that the switch seems to flip. 

It’s the same kind of stare they get in public. The same that operates as overbearing social commentary. The same that preaches hatred and abhorrence. Mingi notices it, and before thinking otherwise, the words slip from his mouth.

“Oh, go to hell, you ugly bastard,” he mumbles, watching the way Yunho’s quick fingers make work of the metal connector. The guard does not realize what is happening before his very eyes until the light fades from the bands around Mingi’s wrists. Only then, does the man try to alert the rest of the group. All at once, hell breaks loose in the basement laboratories of Floor 1024. 

Mingi and Yunho tag team, racing towards the guards, as Mingi makes a show of clapping between the three. It is as though the world has exploded into a realm of glitter and gold. The light catches every falling fractal of the Papaver’s sleeping powder as it rains down onto the group. If the man was of a lesser purity in the bloodline, the attack would have easily backfired onto even the alliance. However, Mingi was one of the strongest fighters Seonghwa had ever met. The man, a pacifist, rarely used his abilities out of fear for hurting someone. In this momentum, however, the look the flickers in the younger’s eye is ruthless, uncaring, and absolutely merciless. 

There is a resounding thud as the three grown men slam into the floor. Hongjoong bites back a high pitched laugh. It should be sad, the fact that they were attacking people who probably only signed up for the job for the money. All is fair in love and war, however. Whether this be a war they actually wanted to partake in was not necessarily up for debate. Even so, Hongjoong utters the words before Seonghwa has a chance.

“Don’t kill anyone,” he says, until his eyes fall onto the now scrambling General Choi. “Except that one. Slit his fucking throat, Eden.” Within seconds, Eden is standing behind Jongho’s father, scalpel poised against the sensitive underbelly of his neck. Rather than acting immediately on the demand, the older man hesitates. “Eden?”

“I just want to know,” he whispers into the general’s ear, “why did you do any of this? It doesn’t matter what you say, but I want an answer, you slimy bastard.” He presses the sharp edge against Choi’s throat, just enough to draw a thin red line. From this distance, Seonghwa cannot truly tell if it is blood or just a mark from the pressure. “Why Maddox?”

Suddenly, everything seems to make sense. The account regarding Maddox’s murder. The first timeline. The unnamed aggressor. Back then, the attack had been entirely the responsibility of Jongho’s father. The altercation itself had been listed as being between  _ CJ _ and  _ KM _ , with Seonghwa’s presence marked as  _ Subject 0001 _ . They had never really thought to accuse Jongho’s father of actually starting the fight nor of Jongho as being part of it. Suddenly, it is as though everything clicks into place with a near deafening snap. 

Jongho’s willingness to follow the group’s lead. His acceptance at constantly being thrown to the side as a second thought. The loyalty that he dedicated to Seonghwa and Yeosang in nearly every situation. Jongho’s apology. The fight had been between Maddox and Jongho; yet his father stepped in and murdered Maddox. 

General Choi laughs, wiggling limply in Eden’s hold, before answering. “You would never understand.” 

“Then, make us,” Seonghwa barks, his voice lethal. “What else are you possibly going to do? You’re not leaving here tonight.”

“Wouldn’t it be a nightmare,” the general says lowly, “if I went to the grave with all of my secrets?” Eden presses the scalpel against his throat with a heavier hand. Choi gasps against the metal. “I’m still a human being, Eden, are you sure you want to do something like this?” When Eden does not speak, the man grows visibly tense. “A war. I wanted to bring this fucking hierarchy down with another war. Park Industries was the first step. You can’t just weed out the weak by pulling them at the root, there will always be more. It’s better to just torch the whole garden down.”

“My father would never let you destroy Park Industries,” Seonghwa whispers, “where is he?”

General Choi laughs again, this time bitter and laced with bloodlust, as he gazes back at Seonghwa. The brunette’s arm is thrown around Hongjoong’s neck tightly, barely able to support his own weight. “Have you checked the fourth floor’s supply closet?” The question rings out like a dagger to Seonghwa’s chest. His father, cold and unrelenting, did not deserve a fate like this. “Do you really believe I would let him have a choice in the matter? He couldn’t even raise a proper heir. He was too focused on protecting your stupid lot of friends. Park always thought that your generation would be the key to the future. To a utopia. 

I just had to make him believe that was what we were doing with Star 1117. That we were saving you, Seonghwa, in every timeline. Do you really believe that he would have pursued such a thing if he knew we were tearing universes apart like cotton candy? That delicate sap thought we were preserving them.”

Seonghwa feels the shock run through his nerves quickly. The icy drip starts at the tip of his spine and leaks through his bones like thin, simple syrup. Hongjoong’s grip on his waist tightens in fury at the general’s words. “All of this was because of you?” He mumbles. He speaks as tidal waves and storm clouds. “Everything we’ve been through, every ounce of love and hate, was at your hands?” 

“Did you expect differently, Kim Hongjoong?” General Choi murmurs, cold eyes not leaving Seonghwa’s for even a second. “I had to find just one universe where Director Park was weak enough to fall for everything. It turns out, this was the best option yet.” His eyes narrow. “Do you want to know what the bastard told me while he bled out on his office floor? He said that he always thought we were working towards a future where the future would not know war. What happens to someone like me, like Jongho, when war does not exist?” He pauses, sizing up the mangled bodies around the room. “We are war.”

“You’re ridiculous,” a voice says, just as the blunt end of the bandage scissors collides with the general’s windpipe. “You’re a pathetic excuse for both a human and a father. May your bloodline end with you,” Yeosang says, his face covered in liquid crimson. “Because God knows that Jongho and I won’t be able to produce an heir.” Eden releases his hold on Choi quickly. The man’s still-breathing corpse crashes to the linoleum in a pile of bones and the immortals share a bizarre look. “I’m sorry, I know you wanted to be the one, Eden, but he was giving me a headache.”

Eden laughs under his breath, wiping the blood from his fingers onto the front of his shirt, and begins to move towards Seonghwa. “It’s fine, Kang. I really was not looking forward to actually cutting his throat. I did like this button-up though.” On the ground, Jongho’s body moves slightly, sending Yeosang crumpling to his side. 

“Love?” Jongho groans in response. “Hongjoong, I don’t–”

“I’ll do it,” Hongjoong answers. “I’ve known you long enough to know that voice, Yeosang. You’ve done enough for us.” To the side, Yunho cradles a trembling Mingi as they sit beside San; rubbing carefully circles into his back. Wooyoung has been flipped over onto his back and his face is clearly in view. Despite the way his eyes are shut, a smile is spreading across his lips slowly. A broken, high-pitched laugh emits from his throat. 

“You’re such an asshole,” San sobs into the man’s chest. “You couldn’t have given us any sign that the bullet only went through your shoulder?” Wooyoung’s good hand comes up carefully to rest on the back of his boyfriend’s head. His fingers thread through the dark strands. 

Wooyoung’s voice is soft and pained as he mumbles, “Now, I’ve always had a knack for dramatics. Why would I give that up now?” Quietly, he chuckles as San’s fist bops his head. “Please be careful, babe. Everything hurts.” 

Eden stands before Seonghwa, expression blank, as he utters the words, “What do you want to do now?” He motions towards the hundreds of crystal cells around the lab. Row after row containing the stolen, physical memories of every timeline before. Each carbon copy of Seonghwa stares back at him, gazes unwavering, and he knows there is only one thing left to do. Carefully, he picks his way to the front row of cases, and stops before  _ Subject 1115 _ . Seonghwa does not recognize himself.

“Are you ready?” The man inside nods slowly. They were never truly the same person. And yet, a part of Seonghwa wishes they could have a discussion, just once, about what actually separated them. Their conflicts of interest. Their fears. But one thing would always be the same. Besides their names and the glint in their eyes, there would always be their love. It is only confirmed when a brief, sorrowful expression crosses his otherselves’ face. 

Hongjoong stands behind the current Seonghwa. His smile soft and full of memories. Fondness. Everything Seonghwa saw through each timeline. Hongjoong had been a constant, unwavering path for all of them. And when the other Seonghwa smiles back, Eden flips the switch that feeds oxygen into the tanks. There would be no more coming back to the past. Star 1115 meets Seonghwa’s eyes once more, and mouths a silent, ‘thank you’ just as the life begins to flicker out of his gaze. Like a candle in the wind, his flame extinguishes into the night. 

“No memories this time,” Hongjoong whispers into Seonghwa’s ear. “It’s a fresh start for all of us.”

“You’ll find me?” Seonghwa asks. It is a breath. A whisper into the deep, darkness that slowly overtakes them. He already knows the answer. They all do.

“Always.” 

In the sudden technicolor blast, he feels the ghost of a kiss pressed to his lips. It has always been citrus, sage, and strawberry nectar. And when everything fades, a vignette of the world coming back into reality, he knows the weight of a pocket filled to the brim with forget-me-nots once again.  _ Time has always been a finicky thing.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Hello, loves! Let me just start by saying: thank you for sticking with me through this fic. It was so far out of my comfort zone, but something I wanted to try.   
> Frankly, it was a wild ride.
> 
> The epilogue will be out sometime in the next 24-hours! 
> 
> Find me on Twitter or Insta: @KyojinOuji  
> I always follow back and love new friends.
> 
> Cheers and see you on the next adventure.   
> \- Baz ❀


	12. Destroy Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Not proof-read or Beta-read so there are bound to be mistakes.  
> (Check out the Spotify playlist that goes with this fic by clicking the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter!) ❀

> [ _“This won't last forever._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _Nothing really lasts forever._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _You're the only one I got;_ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _Plus a pocket full of forget-me-nots._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _Then I fuck up, lost with no direction._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _This is my one shot at redemption._ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ _Oh can you, can you please destroy me.”_ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> [ **_Destroy Me_ ** _\- grandson_ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ffFLoUkshgYWop6GQA4UG?si=TNsx8gNrSIyaxlS_2EQPZw)
> 
> * * *

The vivid blue petals in the window box, just an arms length away, dance in the breeze of the misty morning. Amidst the sea of scattered belongings, there is a cautious feeling that passes over the room. A hush too delicate to disturb. On his bed, the long-forgotten cell phone buzzes with nearly a dozen missed texts and calls. But from his seat, facing the horizon, he can only look forward to the future. 

The knock on his door startles Seonghwa from his thoughts. Whirling around quickly, he catches the eye of his tired mother. Her dark hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, but the smile on her face lights up his world within the instant. She takes a step forward, arms outstretched, and he meets her halfway. Throwing himself into her waiting embrace, he sniffles quietly. Her fingers wind into his hair with that gentle, motherly touch that only calms his nerves slightly. In all of these years, she has never changed the laundry detergent she used on their clothing every Sunday. It was faintly floral, with the hint of an apple blossom breeze. He breathes it in deeply as she soothes his panic with soft circles rubbed into his shoulder blades. 

“I never thought my little boy would be leaving the nest so quickly,” she whispers into the fabric of his shirt. “You’ll tell us if they aren’t feeding you, right baby?” He laughs softly, promising that he would in an instant. In the back of his mind, he knows that the company won’t feed them in the same way that their families would. He knows that coming home would be rare, especially if things went well, but those words are not what his mother needs to hear today. “Your father is downstairs. You should go have breakfast before you have to catch the train.” 

Seonghwa hums, carefully withdrawing his limbs from his mother’s embrace, and focuses on plugging the discarded cell into its charger. He was not even sure if they would let him keep it once he got to the dorms. However, it was something that he would hold onto as though it was a treasure key. The first message on his phone is from one of his brothers, and with a chuckle, he presses the ‘1-1-1-7’ keycode into the lock to shoot back a quick emoji. 

“Is he in the kitchen?” He asks his mother, eyebrows raised. She nods and turns on her heel to lead him to her husband. He tosses the phone back onto the bed with a quiet thud. “He couldn’t come up to my room, because…?” She only laughs at the question, pushing her son through the kitchen threshold gently. 

When he stumbles into the room, the first sight he is met with is that of the various balloons drifting around the space. On the back wall, near the cupboards, there is a set of metallic letters stuck in place. Or rather, an attempt was made. What he assumes should read, ‘Good luck, Seonghwa!’ instead comes across as, ‘Go-d -u-k, --o-gh-a!’ In front of the helium filled decor, however, his father sits at the kitchen table. Before him, a little white cake topped with strawberries daintily makes its presence known. His father, catching Seonghwa’s eye, points at the multi-colored party hat that is strapped to his head. 

“I figured goodbyes are hard enough, so we might as well make it a party.” The man grins brilliantly as Seonghwa barks out a loud laughter. Even long after the cake has been cut and their stomachs filled, Seonghwa can’t help but fall into fits of giggles at the most inopportune times. Especially, when his father is staring at him with tear-filled eyes. “I know I said I wouldn’t cry, but I’m proud of you for finally following your dream, Hwa. It’s your life and I hope you know that every choice you make is entirely your own. Never let someone else force destiny upon you.” Again, the giggles erupt from Seonghwa’s lips before he can stop them.

“I’m sorry,” he says, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “The party hat really sells this whole thing, Dad.” The older man rolls his eyes playfully as Seonghwa’s mother snaps nearly one-hundred pictures. He would never trade his family for anything. Their warmth and freewill were everything. 

By the time they are pulling up to the train station, both of his parents are fretting over the few bags he brought along with him. “I’ll be able to get more once I’m settled,” he reassures them, a cautious smile on his lips. He knows that it probably looks more like a grimace, but if his father starts tearing up again, he is not sure he will be able to control his own waterworks. “There’s always a chance this won’t work out. I could always be back here within the year.” His parents both shake their heads quickly. 

“Don’t say that,” his mother scolds, bold pout making itself known. “They would be fools not to debut you.” As he pulls her in for another hug, she sniffles slightly. He steps away, hand raised, but still covered by half of his fluffy cardigan. 

As he waves, his father asks, “Who did you say is meeting you at the station?” 

“I think they said his name was Jeong Yunho. I saw his picture and he’s familiar. We might have competed against his dance team before.” His family nods in response. “I love you both. I’ll call you when I get there.” And with that, he works his way through the crowded station and boards the train to his dream. He knows it won’t be easy, but something tells him that he has been through far worse. He settles into one of the rubberized, plastic seats with a thump and stares out the window as though part of an aesthetic movie montage. Maybe, in another universe, he was just a movie character setting out to make his way in the world.

By the time the train rolls to a stop at the Mapo Station, he feels as though he has recreated a thousand and sixteen different timelines in his mind. Nonetheless, he tugs the handle out of his rolling suitcase and begins the walk back through the compartment. It’s only when he spills out of the station’s exit, blinded by the sunlight, that a bounding figure nearly knocks him off his feet. In front of him, a tall, lanky figure smiles down. His brown hair lays messily over his brow, but the smile on his face is contagious. A distant part of Seonghwa’s brain whispers that he looks almost like a beagle. _Jeong Yunho._

“Park Seonghwa?” He asks, smile only growing wider and more devastating when Seonghwa nods in confirmation. “I’m Jeong Yunho! I’m supposed to be helping you find your way to KQ Entertainment.” He holds out a palm for Seonghwa to shake. When their hands meet, it’s almost as though a spark ignites between the skin. Yunho, however, does not appear to be bothered by the reaction. Instead, he nods wordlessly, as though piecing together an ancient mystery. Before Seonghwa can ask about it, a voice ricochets through the air like a stray bullet. 

“Ya! Yunho, I told you to stop tearing off places.” It is a melodic call, as though sung by an unseen siren. Back to the sun, Seonghwa cannot see the man’s facial features well. Instead, he is simply a glowing silhouette approaching like a wraith. A furious demon at that. “San and Mingi were pissed that you left without them. I had to practically jog to keep up with your stupidly long legs–” Before he can fully descend on the two with whatever wrath he is spewing, a toddler darts past him, knocking his feet out from under him. The man lets out a quiet yelp as he begins to fall to the ground, but Seonghwa is immediately at his side, trying to stop the slow descent. 

And that is exactly how they find themselves, both flat on their asses on the concrete directly outside of one of Seoul’s train stations, and the subjects of Yunho’s sudden photoshoot. The man groans softly, rubbing his thigh, and trains his gaze onto Seonghwa. “You tried, so thank you.” He holds out a hand with a smile. _How can a person have that many teeth?_ “I’m Kim Hongjoong. You must be–”

“Park Seonghwa,” the older finishes for him. “Have we met somewhere before?” The words fall from his lips like liquid honey. Maybe it is the intoxicating way citrus and sage fill his senses. Or possibly, it is thanks to the way the man’s eyes crinkle like the edges of the most brilliant constellation when he laughs. But something makes him feel as though they have been through hell and back together. That there is an entire world out there for them to see. 

Hongjoong pushes his orange hair back from his eyes and stands slowly. When he offers a hand to Seonghwa to pull him from the ground, he shakes his head carefully. “It’s funny you say that, I was wondering the same thing. You know what they say though, time is a finicky thing.”

“You’re right. Small world, I guess,” Seonghwa mumbles, brushing the dirt from his pants. Yunho holds his cellphone out to him. He must have dropped it while trying to play the hero. After inspecting it for cracks, he glances up to see a bizarre look flicker across Hongjoong’s face. “Are you alright?” 

“Your phone background,” Hongjoong says under his breath, “are those forget-me-nots?” Seonghwa clicks the lock screen button. Immediately, the cell activates to a photo of the blue blossoms outside his bedroom window. He hums in confirmation. “They’re my favorite flower,” Hongjoong says quietly, a soft expression dancing over his features. “It’s just funny to see them here.”

“They’ve always meant a lot to me,” Seonghwa says, staring wistfully at the picture. “I’m going to miss seeing them in the mornings.” He tugs the handle of his suitcase out once more and tightens his grip on the hard plastic. Hongjoong and Yunho both nod. 

“Well, Park Seonghwa,” Yunho says, a smile spreading across his lips once more. “Are you ready to go see your new team? Fair warning, they’re jumping out of their skin to meet you.” Seonghwa nods and steps into the warm sunlight. Hongjoong jogs in front of them just slightly and does a tiny twirl. 

“Welcome to KQ Entertainment, Seonghwa. Now, get ready, because we have a walk ahead of us.” 

Time was a finicky thing, but he could get used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❀ Thank you for reading.
> 
> Find me on Twitter or Insta: @KyojinOuji  
> I always follow back and love new friends.
> 
> Cheers and see you on the next adventure.  
> \- Baz ❀


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